


Calculus

by TidalDragon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Betrayal, Community: HPFT, Dark, F/M, Memory Alteration, Murder Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Sexual Content, Wizarding Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6706756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TidalDragon/pseuds/TidalDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after Voldemort’s death, the Ministry of Magic teeters on the precipice of change. In a secret war fought in stone hallways and behind closed doors, both sides work ceaselessly to ensure their ideology and policies prevail, but one decision by the Wizengamot could seal the future. When the member considered to be the crucial swing vote is discovered dead shortly before the final hearing, a furious investigation ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 11:57

Tobias Hughes enjoyed late night strolls. There was nothing like a peaceful walk in a natural setting to calm nerves and help a man settle on a decision. Of course, trapped in London as he was at the moment a truly natural setting was hard to come by. As such, the eighty year-old wizard was currently meandering amidst the trees at St. James’ Park. It was a far cry from the expansive forest near his home in Northumberland, but it would have to do. At least at this late hour there would be few Muggle passersby to interrupt him with questions about his clothing.

  
  
  
   
Pausing to feel the bark of one of the stoutest trees, the man thought of the decision awaiting him. As a member of the Wizengamot, the highest Wizarding Court in Britain, he would be called upon tomorrow to help decide the matter of _In re Walsham_. The agents of change at the Ministry these days were fighting tooth and nail to correct long-known and seldom-spoken imbalances between the fortunes of those of pure or lengthy half-blood ancestry and those newest to the wizarding community – primarily Muggleborns, but also the earliest generations of newer families created when a Muggleborn witch or wizard married into an existing magical family. The Court was to decide on whether the Minister for Magic had overstepped his bounds by ordering that bankers, businesses, and other wizarding merchants abandon use of a centuries old risk classification system that relied heavily on blood purity and the length of a witch or wizard’s magical lineage.  
  
  
The goblins of Gringotts were one faction that strenuously objected to the change. Others were professional and trade groups like the Guild of Barristers and Solicitors and the Wizarding Realty Association. According to these, the decree jeopardized societal stability and risked fostering an explosion of nightmarish Muggle problems like bankruptcy and homelessness into their world. On the other hand, the Ministry was pressing strongly that the decree should be upheld. Institutionalization of prejudice they argued, even in the private sphere, allowed room for the bitterness and division that had helped plunge their society into two devastating wars to fester again. Jobs were being denied in some quarters and creditworthiness being inappropriately questioned they claimed.  
  
  
Striding into another sparse patch of trees he inhaled deeply. Hughes could detect the scent of rain and he stared into the impenetrable wall of clouds above him. He would have to cut things short. As a gentle but chilly breeze blew over him, he pulled his cloak tightly around himself and cursed forgetting an umbrella. Even with midnight approaching it would be unwise to use magic in an area with such heavy Muggle surveillance. He would suffer through if necessary.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
A short time later, Hughes re-entered his Muggle hotel room, drenched to the bone. The clouds had not been kind to an old man on this cool April night. Drawing his curtains, he produced his wand and quickly cast both drying and warming charms on himself. Placing his cloak in the coat closet, he entered the bathroom briefly, frowning at his own haggard appearance in the mirror. There were too many wizards far older than he with far fewer wrinkles he silently grumbled. Two wars and a life of government service had indeed taken their toll. Sleep before tomorrow’s frenzy would do him good.  
  
  
As Tobias rounded the corner to find his bed, all went dark except the numbers etched in red on the face of the Muggle clock. He drew his wand out of instinct, his heart beating loudly in his chest. Seconds passed in silence and his pulse and breathing began to return to normal. Perhaps a power failure? Fumbling through the darkness for another moment, his hand found the switch that controlled the Muggle lighting. He flicked it once. Twice. A third time. Nothing. Turning back around, he lit his wand.  
  
  
In an instant, a scarlet light struck him and everything went dark again. He grasped the air blindly as his only means of protection fell softly to the floor. Desperate to defend himself, he knelt down, running his hands over the thin carpet around him. Just feet away, Tobias heard a sickening crack as his hand brushed the cold leather of a boot. Out of the darkness, a gloved hand lifted him upward by his thick neck, pressing him into the door.  
  
  
“Please…” he rasped as the hand increased its pressure on his throat.  
  
  
Seconds passed again and as his eyes began adjusting to the darkness, he squinted to try and identify his attacker. The hand released him briefly, but only as a prelude to striking him hard in the face. Tobias tasted blood and felt its sticky warmth dripping from his nose as he was shoved roughly away from the door and into the interior of the room. The tip of a wand was pressed into his back now and he was slowly forced forward. After a few paces, pressure from the wand directed him to his knees.  
  
  
“Please…” Tobias begged again, tears sliding down his face against his will. “I–”  
  
  
Suddenly his plea was interrupted by the gloved hand being placed over his mouth and a searing pain in his lower back. It subsided for an instant before striking him again, this time higher. His attacker released him and Tobias fell the remaining distance to the floor in a crumpled heap. He felt cold and wet. As if only his back was once again outside in the rainstorm. He tried to move but was quickly overwhelmed by waves of pain wracking his body. He tried to suck in air, but was quickly choked by a thick liquid rising in his throat. In his last moments, Tobias lay his head down in defeat. The lights in his room were suddenly restored and he could faintly see the bottom half of a shadowy figure kneeling across the room, as if in prayer. As his vision blurred and began to darken, he fought for consciousness, trying desperately to delay what was now inevitable. He turned his head and widened his eyes, just as a familiar green light struck and enveloped him. Tobias Hughes’s eyes remained open, wide but empty.  
  
  
The hotel clock read 11:57.  
  
  
 **A/N: This story will be my first ever attempt at a mystery, let alone in the Potterverse, and as the summary noted I was driven to try it by Rumpelstiltskin’s Murder Mystery Challenge. It’s going to be dark and heavy. The ending should also be deliciously controversial. I’m not sure how many chapters it will take to do it justice, but I hope to have the entire thing done by the deadline. Enjoy!**  
  
 **  
For anyone out there reading my other WIP as well, this should have minimal impact on my making regular updates to that story. While I am planning on writing both at once, at least until this one is finished, I think the stories and characters are vastly different enough not to cause problems. So keep the faith!**


	2. Awakenings

In a cramped flat in Muggle London, Harry Potter was startled from sleep by a vigorous pounding on his front door. Carefully lifting aside the arm that had been draped over his chest, he sat upright. After pausing for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, he grabbed his glasses and wand from the nearby nightstand and slowly stood. Every muscle in his tired body protested the movement and as he gazed with longing at his wife’s still slumbering body, cozied up next to the space he had just left behind the one in his chest protested loudest of all. Quidditch season was in full swing again until the end of May and between his odd hours and her training schedule in Holyhead, nights together would be few and far between.

  
  
  
  
    
Grumbling he donned an undershirt and pants and dragged himself to the door. Gazing through the peephole, he could see his superior, Head Auror Gawain Robards waiting impatiently outside. Harry muttered several incantations and waved his wand thrice, dispelling the enchantments surrounding the entrance. Releasing a heavy sigh, he manually unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.  
  
  
“Sorry to wake you, Harry,” Robards apologized. “Afraid there’s been a serious incident that simply can’t wait,” he added grimly.  
  
  
“Where?” Harry asked. Despite six years having passed since the Battle of Hogwarts ended, the young wizard still feared the worst when he received this late-night visits. Despite their best efforts, rogue dark wizards still remained at large and there were few more appetizing targets than his closest friends and their families.  
  
  
“The Corinthia…” Robards said solemnly, running a hand through his thick, golden hair.  
  
  
Harry breathed in sharply. “Hell…”  
  
  
“Precisely.”  
  
  
“Come in then,” Harry waved, shutting the door behind them. “Do be quiet though. Ginny’s asleep.”  
  
  
“No I’m not,” the fiery-haired witch said from the entrance to the bedroom as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Looking toward the kitchen she spotted Robards and offered a tepid smile. “Hello, Gawain.”  
  
  
The Head Auror took a sip from the coffee he had brought with him. “Hello again. Sorry about the hour.”  
  
  
Harry looked at his wife. Even in her pajamas, with her hair mussed, her natural beauty struck him. The moonlight entering through the lone window in the kitchen barely reached her face, illuminating the freckles that spattered her cheeks. He immediately went to her, stroking her hair back and giving her a peck on the lips. “Sorry, Gin…I tried not to wake you…”  
  
  
“Well…” she said, a wry smile creeping onto her face, “perhaps if you weren’t so clumsy…anyway, I’m interrupting,” she finished, sharing one last look with her husband before retreating to bed.  
  
  
Robards gestured toward the bedroom with his head. “Get dressed. I’ll fill you in on the way.”  
  
  
Several minutes later, having donned his black suit and tie and kissed Ginny goodbye, Harry met his boss on the street outside his flat.  
  
  
“Who?” he asked simply.  
  
  
“Hughes,” Robards replied. “Just about bad as can be, given the situation.”  
  
  
“Is it–”  
  
  
“Scene’s secure of course. Two of the Department’s best patrolmen. I’ve made sure nobody’s entered.”  
  
  
“Good,” Harry nodded. “I don’t want any premature conclusions clouding my thinking.”  
  
  
“Naturally,” the older wizard said. Robards looked around them before ducking into an alleyway. “Safe to apparate?”  
  
  
Harry nodded once more and with two pops, they were off.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
Across the city, Ron Weasley was shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shot open immediately and he grabbed his wand from under the pillow next to him, poking the person standing over him in the chest.  
  
  
“Wha? Who?” he stuttered as his vision came into focus. “Bloody hell, Harry! You could knock!”  
  
  
Harry smirked at his disoriented friend. “Never as much fun that way.”  
  
  
“Bastard,” Ron said crossly. “You know Hermione could’ve been here…”  
  
  
“The night before the biggest hearing in the last few years? I don’t think so,” Harry chuckled.  
  
  
Ron scowled. “What are you here for anyway?”  
  
  
“Not just me,” Harry tutted. “Gawain too.”  
  
  
“Gawain…”  
  
  
“The Corinthia,” Harry said simply.  
  
  
“Bloody hell.” Ron muttered, shaking his head. “Should I–”  
  
  
“No. Official channels all the way on this one.”  
  
  
“Right. Suppose she’ll find out soon enough.”  
  
  
Harry changed the subject. “Any idea where we might find Neville tonight?”  
  
  
“Haven’t heard from him,” Ron shrugged. “He’s really not taken the news about Luna and that Scamander character well I don’t think.”  
  
  
“Oh?” Harry cocked an eyebrow.  
  
  
“Yeah. Been spending a lot of time at the Leaky from what I hear. I suppose that’d be a fair place to start.”  
  
  
“Get dressed then, mate,” Harry said. “We’ll wait for you to Floo over.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
Inside the Leaky Cauldron, Neville Longbottom sat alone at the bar, staring at a tumbler of Firewhiskey. This was the fourth consecutive night off that the young auror had spent sitting in this same barstool. Sighing, he picked up the tumbler briefly, noting the beginnings of condensation on the glass and dumped some salt on the napkin it had been resting on. Setting it back down, he scanned the room for a sign of anyone he knew. He was met with only disappointment. He should have known better than to expect a familiar face in the crowd on a Tuesday night. As he tilted the glass back and set it down again, he was confronted by the young, blonde bartender who was wearing an amused smile.  
  
  
“You know, most people that come here actually drink,” she teased.  
  
  
“Well…as you ought to know by now, I’m not most people,” Neville shot back.  
  
  
“No,” the bartender said, shooting him a flirtatious smile, “you’re most certainly not. You’ve turned out to be nothing like I imagined you’d be when we first met.”  
  
  
Neville laughed and leaned closer to the young witch. “Come on, Hannah,” he whispered, “close up early tonight. Let me take you someplace.”  
  
  
  
Hannah Abbott blushed and flicked her hair back behind her head. “You know I can’t do that. I’d lose loads of galleons. Not to mention disappointing all these toothless old men you seem intent on hanging around with. Besides, where would you take me? It’s already after one!”  
  
  
“I’m sure we could think of something…” he whispered.  
  
  
“Merlin, Neville!” Hannah gasped. “To think you always used to be so quiet and shy–” The blonde girl stopped abruptly, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Harry and Ron…” she said quickly.  
  
  
Neville looked toward the door immediately as Hannah stepped away. Immediately he noticed his two old friends were not alone. As they searched the crowded room, he waved his hand in the air to signal them.  
  
  
“Ah, Neville, Ron thought we might find you here,” said Robards, eyeing the glass of Firewhiskey warily. “Been here long?”  
  
  
“No sir, just a bit. Haven’t even had a drink yet.”  
  
  
Robards sniffed the air lightly.  
  
  
Neville furrowed his brow disapprovingly.  
  
  
“Had to be sure. Serious business tonight. It’s a good thing you’re decently dressed. We’ve got to get a move on,” Robards said, patting Neville on the back and gesturing for him to join Ron and Harry near the door.  
  
  
As they exited, Neville cast a look back at a disappointed Hannah Abbott, emphatically mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ across the room as he was dragged out the door.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
After an uneventful trip in a Muggle taxi, the four men arrived at the Corinthia Hotel London and immediately made their way inside. With its high ceilings, elegant stone floors, and ornately-carved furniture, the establishment oozed wealth and status. The group immediately proceeded through the lobby, following Robards down a short hallway to the left where they waited for a lift to arrive.  
  
  
“Room 1218,” Robards said quietly.  
  
  
Neville and Ron opened their mouths to speak but were quickly silence by the Head Auror’s raised hand.  
  
  
“We’ll talk inside,” he finished.  
  
  
Shortly, the pair of golden doors farthest from them on the right opened with a soft ding. After a swift ride to the twelfth floor, they made their way to Tobias Hughes’s room. Nodding curtly at their arrival, two wizards dressed as hotel staff stepped aside and allowed them to enter.  
  
  
  
Harry stepped in first, immediately noticing the old wizard’s dead body lying at the foot of the bed, eyes gazing past its far edge toward the clock on the bedside table. Its red numbers now read 1:48, with a small dot indicating AM. As he made to move forward, he discovered the broken wand at his feet. Lifting his own, Harry drew a magical line from the doorway to the object and again from each side wall to where it was located. According to his measurements it was roughly nine and one-half feet from the door and just two inches left of the center point between the two side walls.  
  
  
“Nev, check the bathroom would you?” Harry asked, watching as his former classmate moved into the clean, well-lighted room to their left.  
  
  
Once Ron and Robards had stepped inside, Harry turned around, allowing the door to close. They parted as he raised his wand to check the door. His detection spells illuminated a few potential pieces of evidence in the vicinity. First, caught in the side of the gold ring around the peephole was a single strand of gray hair. Next was a small stain that would have been unnoticeable to the naked eye just inside the closed door. Harry signaled to Ron that the evidence should be collected before stepping carefully over the wand in front of him.  
  
  
He regarded the body carefully. Hughes had died lying on his stomach. From the wounds in the man’s back, it was apparent that he had been stabbed twice with a sharp object and based on their size, Harry speculated that it had most likely been a dagger. Looking around the room, there appeared to be no sign of a struggle. Whoever had killed the older wizard had taken him by surprise.  
  
  
“Go ahead and lift it,” Harry said to Ron. “Neville, figure out a way to conceal it so we can get him out of here.”  
  
  
Both men nodded. Ron raised his wand and used the _mobilicorpus_ charm to levitate the body, placing it on the stretcher that Neville had transfigured the small entry table into.  
  
  
“First to guess his next move doesn’t have to do the inventory,” Ron whispered.  
  
  
“You’re on,” Neville replied. “Hmm. I say he checks the carpet where the body was.”  
  
  
“No way,” Ron scoffed. “Tracing charm.”  
  
  
Behind them, Robards chuckled. “Looks like you’ll both be splitting the work.”  
  
  
Ahead of them, Harry had crossed the room and was casting detection charms on the sitting chair, table, windows, and curtains on the far side. Despite his most careful searching there wasn’t a shred of evidence to be found on any of them.  
  
  
“Now, he’ll do the tracing charm,” said Robards, gesturing toward the dark-haired wizard as he raised his wand.  
  
  
“ _Vestigium magicus_ ,” Harry stated, drawing a circle with his wand and poking its invisible center.  
  
Immediately, a faint yellow color fell over Hughes’ body. A few minutes later, the lights in the room were illuminated with a light blue hue. A faint red trail crossed from the corner where Harry now stood to the other three’s position just in front of the doorway. Harry tilted his head to the right and furrowed his brow, his mouth drawing into a frown. A few minutes passed without incident until a deep green line originating a few paces from Harry shot to the area where the body had been. Shortly the lights in the room were again illuminated with the same blue and a small white mist appeared just in front of him. Looking further, Harry noticed that a small white dot had appeared at some point just in front of Ron’s chest. Waving his wand, all vanished.  
  
  
“What you reckon, Harry?” Ron ventured.  
  
  
“Hughes cast some positive magic on himself. Probably after he came in from the weather," he answered, beginning to pace. "Killer was waiting for him somehow. Put out the lights with something non-verbal…that must be when Hughes lit his wand. Seeing it must have been what made the killer cast to disarm. Then at some point Hughes gets his wand broken…”  
  
  
“Maybe stepped on it in the dark?” offered Neville.  
  
  
“What about the hair and blood over there though?” Harry asked.  
  
  
“Maybe the killer stomped it,” Ron said. “Came over and roughed him up a bit by the door. Explains the hair and the stain…blood maybe.”  
  
  
Harry nodded. “We should check the body for confirmation. And then the question is where those wounds came from and when. Hughes got led over here somehow…maybe after the incident at the door. Then he gets either the Killing Curse or the stabbing. Turned the lights back on when it was done.”  
  
  
“Interesting…” Robards mused.  
  
  
“Interesting?” Neville asked.  
  
  
“Yes…quite. Our killer was either foolish, trying to hide the Killing Curse with the stabbing…or merciful to an extent. Killing Hughes before the loss of blood could do the job.”  
  
  
“Whoever it was certainly kept their hands clean enough,” Harry muttered darkly. “We’ve got nothing about who they are…aside from that they’re magical.”  
  
  
“Fat lot of good that is,” Ron grumbled. “Anything in the bathroom, Neville?”  
  
  
“Afraid not,” Neville answered glumly.  
  
  
Harry pocketed his wand. “Let’s get everything from this area up too. See if we can find anything. I’ll get working on the background…see what we can learn.”  
  
  
“I’ll inform the Department that we’re done here. Try to handle the circus from the press as well, at least until they learn you’re running this thing, Potter. Longbottom, you’ll make arrangements about the body and get back to help Weasley with the inventory.”  
  
  
Each nodded in turn as Robards turned his attention to Harry.  
  
  
“Potter, you’re double lead on this. Report your initial findings to the Department’s Trial Division. They’ll probably assign a special prosecutor. Then follow up with the Minister. The hearing will have to be delayed.”  
  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
  
As Robards made to leave, he turned back and fixed each of his aurors with a meaningful stare. “Welcome to our little piece of hell, gentlemen.” Spinning around again, he left the room briskly, leaving the three friends to handle the mess.  
  
  
 **A/N: One big challenge with this chapter was the investigative techniques that an auror could utilize. I’m not sure I went quite deep enough with it, but hopefully what Harry did doesn’t come across as beyond the scope of reasonableness. Another was bringing these characters together while dealing with some of the “spoiler” material about each of their personal lives. It won’t play a huge role in the story, but will come up here and there. I would also love to hear people’s thoughts on my writing the canon characters. I usually avoid them unless it’s an AU fic, but I’m trying to get over that so I can publish some Post-Hogwarts stuff, which I always enjoy musing about. Let me know what you think!**


	3. Paper

As was her habit on the day of important hearings, Hermione Granger had beaten the sun out of bed. Of course given her other, more unintentional ritual, one had to use the term ‘bed’ loosely. Leaning back idly in her chair, she stared ahead. Stack upon orderly stack of briefings, filings, and memoranda covered her desk, concealing almost every inch of its mahogany surface, with the exception of course of the dingy area where her head had just recently been. As a relatively new Ministry Advocate the size of both her desk and office space still pleasantly surprised her. During her first few years at the Ministry, working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, her office had been little more than a glorified broom closet. Silently she thanked Merlin that she did not have to suffer a cubicle like Ron, Harry, and Neville.

  
  
  
   
A knock on the door mercifully interrupted her mundane musings. It also surprised her. Not many arrived at the Ministry this early and even fewer took the trouble to make their way through the labyrinthine corridors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to see her outside of court. Nevertheless, she dutifully rose, smoothing her robes before crossing the room to open the door.  
  
  
“Harry?” she said, puzzled to discover that her visitor was none other than her raven-haired best friend.  
  
  
“Pleasure to see you too,” Harry said dryly, a thin smile crossing his lips as he walked in.  
  
  
“Sorry. It is good to see you,” she said quickly, “it’s just…I thought you weren’t working until the hearing today.”  
  
  
“Right. Well, that’s why I’m here really…”  
  
  
“I’m not following.”  
  
  
Harry poked his head outside, checking the halls for any unexpected employees. Finding none, he drew it back in and shut the door, casting a _muffliato_ charm. “There’s not going to be a hearing, Hermione. Hughes is dead.”  
  
  
Covering her hand with her mouth, Hermione remained silent for a moment. “When?”  
  
  
“Can’t say yet.”  
  
  
“Well are you allowed to tell me more?”  
  
  
Harry produced a thin file folder from inside his robes. “It’s just the beginning,” he said, handing the file to his brown-haired friend, “but right now you’re one of the only ones I can tell.”  
  
  
“Me?”  
  
  
“You, Kingsley, Gawain, Ron, and Neville.”  
  
  
“How do I fit?”  
  
  
“Check the file.”  
  
  
As she did so, Hermione realized that she was holding her breath. But looking down she saw it. Stamped in red ink one space away from Harry’s was her name. A satisfied smile crossed her face as she exhaled. Looking up once more she saw Harry smirking.  
  
  
“Congratulations,” he said simply. “I’d stay, but I’ve got to brief Kingsley while Gawain handles the _Prophet_.”  
  
  
Hermione waved graciously toward the door. “I understand.”  
  
  
As she was about to shut the door and begin reading what little now existed in the precious file, she noticed Harry’s head pop back in for a moment. “Hermione?”  
  
  
“Yes, Harry?”  
  
  
“Well,” he started, seeming to rethink his return, “you’ll read the file…but between us, we’ve got a lot of work on.”  
  
  
Hermione nodded politely and watched Harry’s perpetually messy hair fly up behind him as he bolted off for his meeting. She shook her head as she walked back toward her desk, but was unable to shake her mood. Harry might not like his evidence so far, but she was confident in her best friend. As for her…well, she _was_ Hermione Granger. She relished a difficult case and she was ready to work harder than ever to close this one.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Following his briefing with Kingsley, Harry set off to meet Neville at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Despite hundreds of meetings there throughout their time together as Aurors, he still always felt uncomfortable. There was something unsettling about simply going about the job while Neville’s parents sat, entirely unspoken of, several floors above them. It was always made worse by the waiting and Harry preferred to keep such time to a minimum. He had even taken to turning up ten minutes earlier than he had planned with Neville just to set the process in motion. Harry sighed as he saw Neville rounding the corner from the hospital’s staff entrance. Again, the cushion had not been enough.  
  
  
“Hey Neville,” Harry said dully.  
  
  
“Hey Harry. How’s the wait look?”  
  
  
“Shouldn’t be much longer. The only good thing about this case is we’re priority number one.”  
  
  
Neville took a seat in one of the molded plastic chairs across from Harry.  
  
  
Harry looked around. The fresh-faced wizard responsible for security kept glancing at him. He was obviously new. Ever since Harry had signed in, the young man had followed the same pattern: swivel in his chair, scratch something down with his quill, glance. Swivel, scratch, glance. The cycle must have repeated itself at least three times in ten minutes.  
  
  
“So…how’re things at home?” Neville asked.  
  
  
“Good,” Harry nodded. “Quidditch wraps up next month, so that should mean more time together for me and Ginny.”  
  
  
“Anything special planned?”  
  
  
“Not anymore,” Harry grumbled. “I’m just lucky I hadn’t told her about the trip yet. She’s been wanting to visit Italy since the World Cup will be there in a couple years. Course I’ll have to cancel now.”  
  
  
“Rough.”  
  
  
“Thanks,” Harry said, shoulders drooping. “Anyway, what about you? Ron says you’re spending lots of time at the Leaky?”  
  
  
“That’s why Gawain sniffed my breath is it?” Neville grumbled  
  
  
Harry gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Ron may have let something about it slip. I wouldn’t worry about it.”  
  
  
“He’s our boss, Harry! You know drinks aren’t–”  
  
  
Neville was interrupted by the large door at the end of the hallway opening. The cold metal quickly gave way to the squat form of Chief Coroner Tilius Maithwaite. The elderly wizard wore a dismal expression on his heavily-wrinkled face, urging them to come with several quick waves from one of his stubby arms. As they approached, the door to the examination area shut loudly and he gestured for Harry and Neville to follow, striding briskly down a hallway to the right.  
  
  
Halfway down the corridor the three men turned left into Maithwaite’s small office. The box-like room was only dimly lit by a small golden lamp on the old wooden desk. The back wall was covered almost entirely by two neatly organized bookcases. As they sat, the two Aurors were greeted by the gleaming gold desk placard engraved with Maithwaite’s name and title.  
  
  
“Morning,” Harry began politely.  
  
  
“Morning Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom,” the stumpy man said curtly, moving over to one of the many sturdy filing cabinets that lined the left wall of the room. “I take it you’ve come for my report.”  
  
  
“It’s going to be a bit more detailed than that this time around,” Harry replied.  
  
  
“Yes, yes, of course,” Maithwaite answered, waving his hand dismissively after tossing the report in Harry’s lap. “Report first. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”  
  
  
Harry opened the thin file, shifting it to his right hand to share with Neville. Furrowing his brow he scanned the standard prefatory form for any unusual information. Male. Five feet, six and three-quarter inches tall. 72.57 kilograms. Two posterior wounds on the right side, one centered an inch to the right of the interspace between the T5 and T6 vertebrae, another lower, approximately three inches from the iliac crest between the L1 and L4 vertebrae. Both ran vertically and measured approximately one inch in length. Bruising had been noted on the right side of the face, centered on the right maxilla. The page also contained reference to barely discernible markings on the neck. The facial and neck injuries were interesting developments that had not been manifested at the scene, but nothing was particularly noteworthy.  
  
  
“Done?” Harry asked Neville.  
  
  
“For now.”  
  
  
Harry flipped to the last page.  
  
  
“So the curse killed him?”  
  
  
“That is my determination,” Maithwaite said solemnly.  
  
  
“But you haven’t opened the body.”  
  
  
The coroner exhaled loudly, fixing his eyes on Harry’s and folding his hands. “Respectfully, Mr. Potter, it is my opinion that such an invasive examination is unnecessary.”  
  
  
“A member of the Wizengamot was stabbed twice in his own hotel room,” Harry said hotly.  
  
  
“And the location of those wounds was very precise. One to the right kidney, another to the lung. Contact with those organs was confirmed magically. Yours is far from the only profession with its own set of detection spells.”  
  
  
“And we’d never question your ability,” Neville offered diplomatically. “It’s just that…I think we both want to emphasize that this was a member of the Wizengamot. There are certain–”  
  
  
“Political realities,” the coroner interrupted.  
  
  
Neville shifted his eyes from the coroner to Harry, who was still wearing a firm frown. “All I’m saying is maybe it would be better for all concerned if we went a bit further than required. You know once the _Prophet_ gets the story there are going to be questions. Demands for your report…”  
  
  
Maithwaite leaned back, gazing at the ceiling pensively. “Yes. A good point, Mr. Longbottom. I will remove and examine the affected organs. I will _not_ however,” he continued, glaring at Harry, “be opening the entire body without medical necessity to do so.”  
  
  
Harry shut the file and stood, handing it back to its owner. “I’ll need a copy.”  
  
  
“Of a preliminary report?” Maithwaite questioned.  
  
  
“Political realities,” Harry said coolly.  
  
  
Producing his wand, the coroner directed it at the file. “ _Geminio_ ,” he muttered, causing an exact duplicate of the file to appear on the tidy desk. “Could have done it yourself,” Maithwaite grumbled, handing the copy over.  
  
  
“Everything is going to happen strictly by the book this time. That means unless it’s for detecting evidence or investigating a scene, our wands don’t touch the evidence.”  
  
  
“Fine, fine,” the squat man said, again waving a hand dismissively as he filed the original away carefully.  
  
  
“Come on, Harry,” Neville urged.  
  
  
Throwing an irritated glance back at the prickly coroner, Harry followed Neville out the door.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Upon their return to the Ministry, Neville and Harry parted ways, Neville heading off to the archives to begin drafting a detailed workup on Hughes’s background while Harry returned to the office to begin work on their suspect list. Entering his team’s cramped cluster of cubicles, Harry found Ron staring down at the completed crime scene inventory, scratching the inside of his right ear with the tip of his wand. Sneaking up behind him, Harry slapped down their copy of Maithwaite’s preliminary report on his desk loudly. Ron immediately sprung forward, fumbling his wand and almost falling out of his chair.  
  
  
“Next time you ought to keep that ear free to listen,” Harry chuckled.  
  
  
“Harry!” Ron half-gasped, half-growled, recovering from the shock his best friend had given him. “Back from the hospital already?”  
  
  
“Maithwaite’s not done.”  
  
  
“Par for the course, mate. I told you he wouldn’t be.”  
  
  
“Planned on that this time. We need a current copy of his preliminary so we can get right to work.”  
  
  
“I’m sure he liked that…” Ron said.  
  
  
“About as much as you’d expect.”  
  
  
“The two of you get into it again?”  
  
  
“Not about that. Good thing Neville was there in the end though,” Harry replied, running a hand through his hair as he pulled out his own chair to sit.  
  
  
“Anything interesting?”  
  
  
“Nothing big. He didn’t come out and say it, but the stab wounds look like they were targeted at organs. Still, he thinks the Killing Curse really did get him.”  
  
  
Ron shook his head. “Haven’t seen much of that since we rounded up the last of the Death Eaters.”  
  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
  
“Harry–” Ron started.  
  
  
“It’s possible,” Harry interrupted. “Remember how many fled to the continent? What are the chances we really got them all?”  
  
  
“Okay,” Ron conceded, “but why here? Why now?”  
  
  
“We were about to completely wipe out the old system. Some of the reforms are already spreading.”  
  
  
“Still…where would we even start?”  
  
  
“Sympathetic countries. Families with educational or family ties to the Death Eaters or Grindelwald.”  
  
  
“That’s a helluva list, Harry…” Ron said doubtfully.  
  
  
“We have to explore it.”  
  
  
“Yeah… _you_ can sell _that_ to Kingsley and Giles.”  
  
  
Harry sighed. “Obviously we start at home. Exhaust everything else first.”  
  
  
“It’s good to hear you speak of exhaustion, Harry,” Gawain said, striding into the room.  
Harry and Ron stood to acknowledge the Head Auror’s arrival.  
  
  
“Sir?” Harry asked.  
  
  
“You and Weasley need to get rested up. Longbottom already had the short straw of all-day duty.”  
  
  
“We can’t do that now!” Harry protested.  
  
  
“You can and will, Mr. Potter,” Gawain said evenly. “We need your team at its best. From what I understand, Longbottom has his orders. He can brief DMLE this afternoon and produce the supplemental.”  
  
  
“But–” Ron cut in, before being quickly interrupted.  
  
  
“No buts. From either of you. You burn yourselves out early on this and we’re in trouble. We’re looking at months of work under the most intense scrutiny you can imagine. I handled the press today, but you’ll have them to contend with in the future in addition to your investigative obligations. I’ve read the file. There’s nothing to act on that we can act on swiftly.”  
  
  
“Sir, I’d just be more comfortable if–” Harry began.  
  
  
“You’d be more comfortable if you could go without sleep,” the older wizard deadpanned. “However, as magic has yet to fully eliminate that basic human need, I have to insist. I don’t want to hear from either of you until at least six tomorrow morning. I’ll be giving Longbottom until lunchtime after his shift ends.”  
  
  
Harry frowned heavily, a crease forming on his forehead.  
  
  
“Take the time, Potter,” Gawain said firmly. “When you come in tomorrow morning, you have my promise that you’ll get no more interference from me. But you _will_ give me until tomorrow morning.”  
  
  
Harry’s shoulders dropped, but he begrudgingly began to gather his items from his desk.  
  
  
“And Potter,” Gawain added, “don’t even think about taking any work home with you.”  
  
  
Harry set down the paperwork he had grabbed and after shooting a resigned glance toward Ron, followed his best friend out the door and toward the Atrium.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
As Harry opened the door and stepped inside his home he was greeted by total silence. Wearily, he locked the deadbolt and restored the enchantments, before undoing the knot of his tie. Remembering Ginny’s complaints about scuffing up their hardwood floor when he dragged his feet, he bent down and removed his shoes. His body groaned at even these simple movements. Silently, he cursed Gawain for sending him home. He had felt fine with the adrenaline of attacking a new case fueling him, but now that he had stepped away and was faced with an apparently empty apartment, the effects of pushing himself so hard were setting in. When his boss had arrived shortly after midnight, he had only been asleep for a couple of hours, having working a ten hour day before that. Today he had already worked almost fourteen. He dragged himself to the bed that he and Ginny shared, cursing the Head Auror once more. He undressed as swiftly as he could, lazily flicking his wand to send the pile of clothes into the far corner. As Harry’s head finally hit his pillow, his whirring thoughts came grinding to a halt. Alone, he was almost immediately enveloped by sleep.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Three hours later, the young Auror awakened to the soft brush of a hand stroking his hair off his forehead and the soaring sensation that still accompanied each tender kiss he received from a most familiar pair of supple lips. Keeping his eyes closed as he returned the kiss, he inhaled deeply. He was immediately struck by a delightfully unique combination of scents – a hint of dirt, the faint saltiness of sweat, and the lightest note of floral sweetness. Ginny was home. As her lips lingered, he stroked her neck and kissed her earnestly. After a few moments she broke away, triggering his eyes to open.  
  
  
His wife was now standing over him in her emerald and gold training kit, brilliant red hair tied up in a ponytail. Her bright brown eyes danced with the same amusement that played out in the smile on her freckled face.  
  
  
“Miss me, Harry?” she said teasingly.  
  
  
“Always,” he readily answered, sitting up and shaking his head clear. “How was training?”  
  
  
“Decent. We mostly worked on defensive play today, so I took more of a beating than usual. Though as you can see I’m still intact,” she answered, cocking her head to the side fetchingly and gesturing to her face.  
  
  
Harry laughed. “Well, of course that’s the most important thing,” he teased.  
  
  
Ginny leaned down quickly and smacked him playfully. “Watch yourself or you’ll have to listen to my stat line for the day…”  
  
  
Harry shrunk back in mock fear.  
  
  
“Git,” Ginny muttered, winking. “I didn’t expect you home what with my heavy training schedule and the mysterious midnight departure, so I stayed late to work with some of the reserves. When did you get here?”  
  
  
“Somewhere ‘round three. Gawain sent Ron and me home.”  
  
  
“Not playing well with others?”  
  
  
“I played very well with others!” Harry insisted. “No, we’re up against it with this case and he doesn’t want us getting burnt out straightaway.”  
  
  
“Can you–”  
  
  
“Share?” Harry finished. “Not this time. Not ‘til it breaks anyway.” He glanced at the watch he had left on his wrist. “Well, if you’ve grabbed the evening edition it probably already has.”  
  
  
Ginny fixed her husband with a serious stare. “What have you got yourself into this time?”  
  
  
“Influential member of the Wizengamot was murdered last night. Nasty scene. I’m lead on it, working with Ron and Neville.”  
  
  
The red-haired witch stayed silent for a moment.  
  
  
“It’ll be fine, love,” Harry reassured her. “Come here.”  
  
  
Ginny sat down on the bed next to him, closing her eyes as Harry began to massage her shoulders.  
  
  
“Mmm,” she groaned.  
  
  
“I know you hate these cases…” he started.  
  
  
“I only hate them when you get reckless,” Ginny said sternly.  
  
  
“And if I promise I won’t be?”  
  
  
“You’d better not break it.”  
  
  
“Heavier enchantments?” he asked.  
  
  
Ginny nodded. “I want you to charm our rings again too,” she added.  
  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
  
For a moment she locked her brown eyes to Harry’s green ones, searching for a sign that might give her more or less cause for concern. Finding nothing, Ginny leaned into him and smiled faintly as she was rewarded with a tight hug. After a few minutes of holding her silently, Harry released her.  
  
  
“Would it help at all if I cooked for you tonight?” he asked.  
  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes and snorted lightly. “That might _hurt_. When do you have to be back in?”  
  
  
“Tomorrow. Six.”  
  
  
“Then take me out, Mr. Potter. I think I deserve it,” she said, crossing her arms and raising her nose snootily in the air.  
  
  
“Wherever you want,” Harry answered, smiling in amusement at her pose.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Upon his return from the Ministry, Ron Weasley had also taken a lengthy nap, though with no wife to awaken him, his had lasted considerably longer. Groggily, he opened the door to grab the _Evening Prophet_ before rummaging through his pantry for dinner ideas. It was times like this he missed living at home where he could always count on a free, delicious, and most importantly large meal. Harry was a lucky dog. He imagined right about now, his sister was probably treating his best friend to a home-cooked meal, which though it pained Ron to admit it, would be delicious in its own right. Settling on two cans of soup that Hermione had endorsed at a Muggle supermarket, he returned to the table to read how the crime was being reported.  
  
  
 _MINISTRY MUM ON DETAILS OF WELL-RESPECTED WARLOCK’S MURDER_  
  
  
 _Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt announced this morning to a stunned wizarding public that venerated wizard and thirty-five year member of the Wizengamot, Tobias Hughes was murdered last night in his room at a Muggle hotel. Politely recounting the accomplishments of the career Ministry employee and asking all witches and wizards in Britain to observe a moment of silence in his memory, Minister Shacklebolt delegated the responsibility of answering questions regarding this tragic incident to Head Auror Gawain Robards_.  
  
  
 _Repeatedly citing the need to observe proper investigative protocol and a desire to avoid publicizing information that might assist the person or persons responsible in their attempts to avoid capture, Robards provided few facts and even fewer preliminary conclusions, though he did ultimately disclose that Hughes was the latest high-profile victim of the most infamous of Unforgiveables, the Killing Curse, having been slain between 11:30 PM yesterday and 12:30 AM this morning. Robards also dismissed concerns that the killing may have been politically-motivated as “premature and unfounded.” The Head Auror also called rumors of intense political infighting in both the Wizengamot and the Shacklebolt administration over the case of In re Walsham, which the High Court was expected to decide at a hearing today, “largely fabricated and overblown.” Nevertheless, in light of Hughes’s death, that hearing has been indefinitely delayed while a determination is made regarding his replacement._  
  
  
 _Robards also used the press conference as an opportunity to announce that the investigation into the incident would be spearheaded by none other than the Savior of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, whose glittering career in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has seen him enjoy a meteoric rise to his present role as Head of the Auror Department’s Major Crimes Division. Confidential Ministry sources have also confirmed that Potter will be supported for the duration of the investigation by close friends and fellow Aurors Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom. In an unrelated move, Head of the DMLE Trial Division, Helena Garrick has assigned Ministry Advocate Hermione Granger to present the case should it eventually proceed to trial._  
  
  
 _While the prospects of successfully solving the case remain unclear at this incredibly early stage, rest assured that we at the_ Daily Prophet _, will keep you fully and accurately informed of any and all developments._  
  
  
Ron tossed the paper down. He was supposed to be enjoying a break. He briefly considered owling Hermione, but reconsidered. Knowing his girlfriend, she would be harassing Neville to no end, and burning the midnight oil to get up to speed on whatever she could get her hands on. If she surprised him by dropping by later, all the better, but after her reaction to being asked to take a night off for during her preparations for her keynote address at the International Conference on Creature Control, he knew better than to disturb her. He smiled. For the next twelve hours, life could stay simple. No romance. No work. No complications. Just a man and his food. The way it was meant to be.  
  
  
 **A/N: This chapter ended up being a bear to write. Between trying to bring more characters into the story, keeping the investigation and breaking story detailed and realistic, and handling a bit of life outside of the case, I found myself typing large sections, re-writing them, and then deleting them and replacing them with something else entirely. In short, I am swiftly developing an even more immense respect for authors who can successfully tackle a mystery in their stories, especially fics where the murder involves writing a lot of canon characters, who always present a special challenge. I would love to hear any feedback you have on the story so far! Thanks for reading!**


	4. Intelligence

Wendy Ellerbee did her best to remain stoic as she re-took her post next to Stack 1281. It felt a bit wrong to be so pleased with herself. After all, the current state of things was proof enough that the Second Wizarding War still cast a long shadow into the present. Wendy had been a third-year Gryffindor, just too old to avoid the climactic battle being etched into her memory, but still too young to have grown into her bravery as she was whisked away from the fighting by Headmistress McGonagall’s decree. Now, _she_ was responsible for security at the Ministry Archives. It wasn’t glamorous, but such is the life of a rookie member of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. Her badge would never carry the cachet of an Auror’s, but it satisfied her sense of duty and one day, she was certain she’d have the opportunity to support the likes of Neville Longbottom or Ron Weasley. Perhaps even one day, Harry Potter himself.

  
  
  
   
Suddenly, her reflection was interrupted by the sound of footfalls approaching the gated entry to the Wizengamot Administration Services Vault. Wendy was reassured by the cool smoothness of her alder wand’s finish on her fingers as she gripped it tightly. Visitors to this area were quite unusual after the close of normal business hours. The young witch stole a furtive glance to her right, where she suspected the steps were coming from. In the soft lantern-light, she could down the length of the enchanted wrought-iron gate separating the secure area from the rest of the Archives. The energy of the protective magic at work hummed lightly in her ear, but she could still sense the steps drawing closer. There was the distinctive sound of a shoe pivoting on the marble floor. The person turned the corner and suddenly a face was illuminated.  
  
  
“Hello there,” Hermione Granger said brightly.  
  
  
“Oh. Hermione. It’s you.”  
  
  
The brown-haired witch smiled tiredly. “Expecting someone else?”  
  
  
“No,” Wendy answered, shaking her head. “I guess with everything going on…well you never know.”  
  
  
“True,” Hermione nodded solemnly. “Always better to have your wand ready than not…though I think you’re safe for now,” she finished, fixing her gaze pointedly on the object Wendy was still gripping tightly at her hip.  
  
  
Wendy pocketed it once more with a sheepish grin. “Right. So what brings you down here so late?”  
  
  
“Well,” Hermione began, lowering her voice and leaning in conspiratorially, “I’ve actually been assigned to the Hughes case. I thought I’d come when it’s not busy…review the minutes from Wizengamot proceedings he attended over the last decade.”  
  
  
The young sentry’s eyes widened. “The whole decade? That’s back into–”  
  
  
“I know.”  
  
  
“But why?”  
  
  
“I don’t want to miss anything.”  
  
  
“Of course not, but…I mean isn’t this more something for the Auror Office?”  
  
  
“I suppose for some advocates. I prefer a more hands on approach.”  
  
  
“But is it–”  
  
  
Hermione shot the young witch a disapproving glare. “Honestly, Wendy…I’m equally entitled to access by Ministry Decree.”  
  
  
Wendy immediately felt silly. Challenging a war hero on protocol. And the cleverest witch to come out of Hogwarts in well over a century. The fact that Hermione had put in personal effort during her seventh year to both comfort and tutor the young witch added shame to the embarrassment. “Of course,” she deferred. “I will need your wand though…”  
  
  
Hermione immediately produced it, handing it over along with a newly apologetic gaze. “Sorry I was a bit abrupt. I just badly want to get to work. It’s a massive case and it’ll be my first time properly working with Ron and Harry again.”  
  
  
Wendy nodded, taking the wand and placing in it the metal holding box behind her before temporarily dispelling the enchantments on the gate to her left. She watched carefully as the brown-haired witch strode confidently toward the ancient vault, the light from her lantern slowly dimming as she moved deeper into the secure portion of the Archives. With another flick of her own wand, she restored the protections around the entrance, vowing to study her already well-worn codebook more closely to avoid any future mistakes.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Meanwhile, in his cubicle in the Auror Office, Neville Longbottom yawned and rubbed his weary set of eyes. Several books and dozens of ancient copies of the _Prophet_ and other wizarding periodicals were strewn haphazardly about the small desk where he had worked feverishly to complete a detailed background report for a victim as well-known and highly-connected as Tobias Hughes. As the clock on the wall drew ever nearer to midnight, he could finally sit back and review what six hours of research and three hours of non-stop writing had yielded.  
  
  
Born to a poor family of undignified magical stock in the summer of 1924, Hughes had been sorted into Hufflepuff, going on to receive nine O.W.L.s and seven N.E.W.T.s. Embarking on a career at the Ministry immediately after graduation, he had managed to balance various small roles in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement while studying for the Comprehensive Regulation of Ordinary Wizarding examinations – the successful completion of which the Ministry required for those holding specialized legal roles. After passing his C.R.O.W.s on his first attempt, he appeared to switch focus to the international wizarding community, playing out the next twenty years of his career in roles of ascending importance in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, ultimately concluding with a meteoric rise to Head of the International Magical Office of Law by the time he was 39.  
  
  
In the end however, his many accomplishments and status as a wunderkind of international law could not help him escape the nastiness of politics. Neville had unearthed articles from throughout the late 1964 through early 1965 mooting Hughes as the certain nominee for the vacant seat on the International Confederation of Wizards. However, the same issues of the _Prophet_ also featured many articles covering riots and civil unrest connected with the Muggle-born Minister for Magic, Nobby Leach. Most of the protests seemed to center around Leach’s attempts to reform a system of law and commerce long fixated on protecting and rewarding blood purity. When the time to make appointments finally did come however, the heavily-embattled Minister instead appointed an octogenarian pureblood, Edric Selwyn. Hughes wound up named to the Wizengamot, a post he accepted graciously and without fanfare.  
  
  
Still, Neville wondered if there were more to the story. His reading had shown that prior to being snubbed for his favored role, Hughes had been notoriously outspoken on policy issues at home and abroad, never shy to provide a delicious quote for any journalist, foreign or domestic, provided they were enterprising enough to ask. It was a sharp contrast to his behavior once on the bench of Britain’s Wizarding High Court. Almost immediately, the wizard’s public appearances dried up. His quotes disappeared from the press with similarly dizzying speed. Indeed, just five years later, the hordes of detailed profiles full of effusive praise had given way to only a single article of substance, published in a foreign newspaper, _Kapital Mag’osnik_ on the first anniversary of his appointment. Glancing at the article again, the young Auror reluctantly made a note to have it sent to one of the translators in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It was likely to be a fool’s errand, but at least no one could accuse him of taking any shortcuts.  
  
  
“Unnh, I need coffee,” he groaned aloud to the empty room.  
  
  
“I should think sleep would do you better, Longbottom,” said the Head Auror, chuckling as his retort caused Neville to jump in his seat. “Look sharp then! We can’t have this sort of thing getting out. Our Aurors panicking when one little thing happens out of the ordinary.”  
  
  
“Sir!” Neville started, recovering his breath as he stood up quickly.  
  
  
Robards waved his hand dismissively. “No need for all that. The building’s practically empty after all. And of course the office is.”  
  
  
“Yeah…where’re Harry and Ron? I thought for sure they’d be late tonight…”  
  
  
“Goodness me, they’ve gone hours ago. This afternoon in fact. Didn’t they leave you a note?”  
  
  
“A note?”  
  
  
Scanning the desk in front of him, Robards saw a folded piece of parchment sticking out from under a large stack of reference books. Casting Neville a meaningful look, he strode forward and plucked it out.  
  
  
Neville immediately recognized Harry’s scrawling of his name on the front. “Right. Forgot all about this when I set the books down…”  
  
  
“Indeed. Well…I’m sure it’s all there. Get some rest, Longbottom. You’re going to need it.”  
  
  
Having been officially relieved, Neville quickly grabbed his cloak from the rack in the corner and before the Head Auror had shut the door to his own office, the young wizard was on his way out the door to Floo home.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
As they waited together atop Stoatshead Hill, Harry and Ron watched the horizon. The sun’s orange edge had just broken over it about half an hour earlier and now cast a pleasant glow over the area, burning off the remains of the mist still hanging about from the night before.  
  
  
“Remember we were here ten years ago?” Harry ventured as their vigil continued.  
  
  
“Course I do, mate! It was the bloody Quidditch World Cup!”  
  
  
Harry laughed appreciatively before pausing. “Yeah…” he began, staring off into the distance. “I suppose the match itself was about the last pure thing we had before it all went pear-shaped wasn’t it?”  
  
  
Ron inhaled sharply. “I reckon so. It’s odd looking back at it. Krum was brilliant – at least until he took Hermione to that awful dance. You know she still doesn’t let me forget that?”  
  
  
Harry laughed again. “Sounds about right.”  
  
  
Ron fired a frown back at his friend. “Hey! I’m not the _only_ one who bollixed _that_ up.”  
  
  
“And you think your sister shows _me_ any mercy?”  
  
  
“S’pose not.”  
  
  
“ _Never_.”  
  
  
“Yeah. Mercy’s not really in Ginny’s vocabulary–”  
  
  
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a soft pop. A young wizard in fine robes stepped toward them out of the woods, carefully removing a pair of leather gloves from his hands. He regarded the ground where they stood disdainfully, prodding it gently with the toe of a black boot before moving into the grassier area where they were standing.  
  
  
“Potter. Weasley,” he said curtly, dragging out the red-haired Auror’s last name as if it caused him some degree of pain to say it. “You’ve drug me all the way out here. What do you want?”  
  
  
Ron crossed his arms and scowled at the blonde standing across from him. “Don’t flatter yourself Malfoy. We’d both be happier if we could steer clear of you too. Case you haven’t heard though, somebody’s been murdered.”  
  
  
“I’ve seen the papers,” he said dismissively.  
  
  
“Sounds pretty typical of your lot,” Ron spat.  
  
  
Draco stiffened. “ _My_ lot is fairly limited. Perhaps you’re confusing me with my father.”  
  
  
“Right. You’ve both got the same scar last I checked. Wifey couldn’t clean that off for you could she?”  
  
  
The blonde wizard’s face contorted in anger and as he reached into his pocket for his wand, Harry stepped between the two men.  
  
  
“Enough! Both of you! We’ve done this dance plenty by now, haven’t we?” Harry shouted.  
  
  
“I’ve told you things go better if you leave your little lap dog at home, Potter!”  
  
  
“Who are you–”  
  
  
“Enough, Ron!” Harry barked, pushing his friend back roughly before casting an irritated glare at Draco. “You,” he started. “I want to know what you know.”  
  
  
Draco rolled his eyes theatrically. “You _already_ know what I know. Which is nothing.”  
  
  
“Forgive me if I find that a _bit_ hard to believe given your family’s history and the subject of that hearing.”  
  
  
“Consider yourself forgiven,” the blonde wizard sneered.  
  
  
“You’re telling me you’ve heard _nothing_? Not from Zabini? Not from Parkinson?”  
  
  
Draco harrumphed. “The Auror Office really is slipping. Blaise has been in France for four years now. As for Pansy…well, I hardly think _your_ wife would be terribly pleased to find you having little rendezvouses with Cho Chang would she?”  
  
  
“Neither of those are answers, Malfoy,” Harry replied tersely.  
  
  
“Fine. In a word, no. To all three questions.”  
  
  
“And what about your wife? Her family?”  
  
  
“You think I sit around and pump them for information? I have better uses of my time.”  
  
  
“And your father? I’m sure he’s just been thrilled with all the changes at the Ministry lately.”  
  
  
“My father and mother have taken up safer hobbies than politics these days. Besides, the Ministry knows where my father is at all times. Just as they do me. Or have you forgotten your friend Granger’s clever little version of the Trace?”  
  
  
Harry ran a hand through his hair as he paced several times between Ron and Draco. Finally, after stopping to stroke his chin for a moment, he looked down and sighed.  
  
  
“You should be relieved, Potter. If they’re not here it can be someone else’s problem for once,” Malfoy grumbled.  
  
  
Harry looked up, fixing his former schoolmate with a hard glare. “You can go for now. But you _will_ keep your ear to the ground. If you hear _anything_ that even _sounds_ like it might have something to do with this, I’ll expect to hear from you.”  
  
  
“Naturally, you’ll be my first owl,” Draco said glibly, rolling his eyes as he turned around theatrically and disapparated.  
  
  
“Damnit!” Harry yelled.  
  
  
“You believe him?” Ron asked skeptically.  
  
  
“We don’t have any evidence he’s lying,” Harry said resignedly. “What choice do we really have? There’s a limited pool of suspects he would have direct contact with. All the darkest wizards left alive after the War are still locked up tight in Azkaban.”  
  
  
“I still don’t trust him. He has to know something about this. I mean, it’s _Malfoy_.”  
  
  
“Well, if he does we’re going to have to find the first pieces ourselves because he’s not coming out with it. Which means, if he does know something he probably knows they’re _not_ British.”  
  
  
“I hate when your complicated theories end up right,” Ron groaned.  
  
  
“We don’t know yet,” Harry conceded. “We have to check with Neville. See if there’s anything we’ve missed as far as motives. And of course we have to check our side of things. But if not…”  
  
  
“Our investigation just got a whole lot bigger,” Ron finished, glancing over at Harry with a weak smile.  
  
  
 **A/N: First off, sorry it has taken so long to get another update out for this story. I had planned on getting a lot done early this week, but I had something of a medical catastrophe that put me out of commission Sunday through most of Wednesday and then I really wrestled with laying out the necessary information, advancing the plot, and refining the characterizations over very limited time the rest of the week. I’m very hopeful that the next update will come much sooner than this one did.**  
  
 **  
That said, I am completely inexperienced in writing this genre so I’m kind of feeling my way around a bit. I do have a really clear idea of my endgame and some of the steps along the way, but some of the mechanics of getting there are giving me fits and I’m trying to keep things interesting while still moving through what I think a realistic investigation might look like from all the relevant angles and introducing important folks. The questions/thoughts bouncing around in my head right now are mainly, how’s the overall tone feel? Does it feel like I’m plodding? If so, I think things will pick up VERY soon. What do you think of mixing in some of the personal stuff with the mystery? Is there anything major you think I’m missing? How about this chapter? Were the snapshots and/or conversations too short? How did you feel about the background on the victim?**  
  
 **  
Thanks as always for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts that any of you has to offer!**


	5. Frenzy

“I can’t do it anymore Harry!” Neville insisted, hurriedly quaffing another vial of Wit-Sharpening Potion. “This is the last time!”

  
  
   
“You think I like it?” Harry barked back.  
  
  
“I think you set it up…” the blonde Auror muttered.  
  
  
“Excuse me?” Harry said.  
  
  
“Keep it down a bit? Some of us are trying to work…” Ron grumbled, leaning around the wall of his cubicle to shoot his friends a dark glare.  
  
  
Harry eyed Neville carefully, his brow furrowed in irritation.  
  
  
“I can’t do it!” Neville repeated. “Sixteen hours a day. Midnight to four in the afternoon for the past two weeks!”  
  
  
“Yeah, yeah…we’ve all been working sixteen,” Ron muttered again, crumpling up the notes he had been taking and tossing the wad of parchment into his overflowing trash can. “Noon to four in the morning’s no picnic either.”  
  
  
“Harry’s at least got reasonable hours. Six in the morning ‘til ten at night…gets to have a bit of a life,” Neville groused bitterly, casting a glance toward Ron in an effort to win him over.  
  
  
“The only reason I have the middle of the day is because I’m Lead,” Harry fought back. “And it’s hardly the posh gig you make it out to be. I have to deal with all the planning, other Departments…That’s not to mention days like today with the papers–”  
  
  
“Still mate,” Ron interrupted. “It is a bit much don’t you think? The extra coverage late and overnight’s not really getting us anywhere…”  
  
  
Harry sighed, resting his rear on his desk and running a hand through his hair. “I just feel like we’ve got to keep at it. Everybody’s expecting information…”  
  
  
“But we’re borderline useless by the end of our shifts anyway,” Neville pressed. “The potions only go so far…and I think we’re well on our way to draining the stores dry.”  
  
  
“I just feel like we’re on the cusp of a breakthrough,” insisted Harry, waving his hands animatedly as he stood erect once again. “You say we’re not getting anywhere and maybe we’re not with new evidence, but we’re ruling loads _out_.”  
  
  
Ron waggled his head back and forth with a shrug.  
  
  
“We’re down to few families here and then some connections abroad, Harry,” Neville ventured.  
  
  
“That’s just more reason to keep at it!”  
  
  
“Well, we’re hardly going to be making house calls from dinner ‘til breakfast are we? Let alone in other countries…” asked Ron with a tentative chuckle.  
  
  
Harry yawned, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.  
  
  
“I’ll bet Ginny’d like having you home a bit more…end of the season coming up and all,” Neville coaxed, changing tactics.  
  
  
Ron quickly caught on. “Yeah. Sparing extra time during such a big case. Bet she’d love that…”  
  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn’t avoid letting a small smile creep onto his face. “Let’s see where we are before I decide.”  
  
  
“Brilliant!” Neville exclaimed, wheeling over the large chart he had drawn up on the office bulletin board.  
  
  
“What’s all this?” questioned Ron, gesturing to the myriad columns, lines, and names next to an oddly highlighted map.  
  
  
“This,” the blonde wizard started, “is my summary of possible suspects.”  
  
  
Harry reviewed the chart and map before him. The chart contained two columns with names of magical families or individual witches and wizards in Britain, while the third, located between the other two, listed connections to foreign countries, in some cases including specific people or families. The names in the left-hand column came as no surprise. There Harry found several prominent pureblood families – the Malfoys, the Flints, and the Parkinsons – along with the names of the only known and unpardoned Death Eaters who remained at large, Travers and Thorfinn Rowle. Lines connected Travers and Rowle to countries in Eastern Europe, though Harry knew better than to trust the information unless Neville had unearthed something new. Barring that those lines were almost as old as their Auror badges.  
  
  
The right-hand column was far more intriguing. Here Neville had taken some real liberties.  
  
  
“Oi!” Ron shouted suddenly.  
  
  
“I thought we’d get to that,” Neville started, casting a glance at Harry.  
  
  
“You thought we’d get to that?! Cho Chang, Dennis Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley…and bloody hell–” the red-haired wizard continued.  
  
  
“Ron–”  
  
  
“Are you mental?!” the red-haired wizard shouted, staring at the lengthy list of names.  
  
  
“I just think we have to investigate anyone with a vested interest,” Neville defended. “Cho’s married to a Muggle…Dennis and Justin are Muggle-born…it’s in their interest the decree get upheld just as much as it is to a family like the Malfoys that it fail…since nobody knew which way Hughes was going to go we have to consider it…”  
  
  
“That’s rubbish,” Ron fired back angrily. “There’s a reason it’s the one side that uses dark magic–”  
  
  
“Still, he has a point, Ron,” Harry interrupted. “We can’t appear as if we’re favoring one side over another. It’s dangerous. We’ve made too much progress. If it got out we never even explored the _possibility_ …”  
  
  
“Politics!” shouted Ron to the rafters. “I thought all that was about to _finally_ be over.”  
  
  
Harry harrumphed. “Come on mate. It’ll never be _over_.”  
  
  
As the three lapsed into an awkward silence, Harry returned to studying the board. The final column reflected most of his own research, which Neville had incorporated into his chart. Most of it was embarrassingly obvious he had to admit, and it would be difficult to know where to begin should it be necessary. It was mostly populated with countries – Albania, Bulgaria, France, Hungary, and Sweden – to which a connection to noteworthy pure-blood families or dark wizards could be found. In some cases, it was tenuous at best. Albania for example had merely been a hiding place for Voldemort between wars. France was only the country to which the once-prominent Shafiq family had fled, along with Blaise Zabini. The map merely highlighted the foreign countries Harry had honed in on, featuring glowing dots.  
  
  
“What’s with the dots?” Ron asked.  
  
  
“Oh. Simple charm I worked up, it’s just a placeholder really–”  
  
  
“You worked up a charm, Neville?” the red-haired Auror asked, incredulous.  
  
  
“Well it was simple really. I mean, it’s just a dot. And then you tap it,” he continued, producing his wand and completing the motion, “and you get a face and a name. Harry came up with all the information behind it for the foreign ones. I just thought it might help organize things a bit.”  
  
  
“It’s great,” Harry said quickly.  
  
  
“Yeah, it’s all brilliant,” Ron added, waving a hand dismissively, “but who do we actually have to start taking a look at?”  
  
  
“Well,” Harry began, reasserting his authority as Lead Auror, “I think our best bet is to start with _anything_ we have on home soil connected to any of these leads. So right off the bat our old schoolmates. We should probably divide those up, see if we can’t handle them tomorrow.”  
  
  
Ron and Neville looked on expectantly.  
  
  
“Right,” Harry continued. “Neville should probably take Malfoy since we just got nowhere with him recently. Ron, why don’t you take Pansy and I’ll deal with Flint?”  
  
  
“Sounds good to me,” Ron answered, nodding. “What about the other side of the board?”  
  
  
“Well, I think Cho and Dean are out for me,” Harry chuckled.  
  
  
“Yeah, goes without saying mate,” Ron agreed. “I’ll take those two then. And I guess Seamus as well.”  
  
  
“Alright. Justin and Hannah Abbott for me then,” Harry added. “That leaves Neville with the honor of Dennis, Michael Corner, and our assigned Advocate.”  
  
  
“Leave me with the dicey one…” Neville grumbled, scowling at the other two.  
  
  
“Well we can hardly do it can we?” said Ron matter-of-factly. “We’ve been best friends since first year and she’s _my_ girlfriend!”  
  
  
“I suppose,” Neville muttered.  
  
  
“Since I’m the only one who’s really done any of the research, I’ll start getting as much background as I can on some of our target countries and families abroad. France I figure I may as well start with Fleur and then I’ll see if I can’t get ahold of Krum about Bulgaria and Sweden. Albania and Hungary are last resorts,” Harry finished.  
  
  
“Sounds like a splendid day tomorrow,” Ron replied, turning back to his desk to continue checking the final copy of the autopsy report they had received that morning.  
  
  
“And I’m off to tackle the press,” Harry said, flashing a phony smile as he strode toward the door.  
  
  
“Hey! Not so fast, Harry!” Neville called out.  
  
  
Harry froze in his tracks and dropped his head in resignation.  
  
  
“What’d you decide?”  
  
  
Ron leaned around the end of his cubicle once more and eyed his dark-haired friend with keen interest.  
  
  
“Tomorrow we’re sticking to the same schedule. We need the hours,” Harry said firmly.  
  
  
Neville groaned as Ron nodded glumly in the background.  
  
  
“But after that we’ll cut it back to twelve hour shifts. Neville, you can run midnight to noon. I’ll take six to six. Ron, you take the opposite of Neville. Good?”  
  
  
“Good!” Ron said brightly, flashing Harry a thumbs-up.  
  
  
Harry turned to Neville, who was wearing a tepid half-smile. “Good?” he repeated.  
  
  
Neville nodded appreciatively. “Thanks Harry.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Harry found himself at a podium in the cramped briefing room arranged by Public Information Services. After two of these press conferences he could now confidently say they were his least favorite part of being Lead on an investigation of this magnitude. His boss was a lucky man having the discretion to delegate this nightmare to someone else. As the flashbulbs pulsed throughout the room at the end of his weekly update, he did his best to make his face the picture of confident stoicism. Finally, as rapidly as they had begun, they faded. Alas, the true torture was still to come.  
  
  
“Harry!” the masses all clamored.  
  
  
Instinctively, he raised his hands to quiet them down. He despised the familiarity with which they addressed him. They were and always had been sharks, constantly sniffing for the tiniest misstep, ever ready to turn a hero into a villain. Yet they called him by his first name. He waved again for quiet and finally, mercifully, it came.  
  
  
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Harry began, mustering a half-smile to indulge them. “Over the course of the past two weeks, my team and I have worked tirelessly to identify not just persons, but places we believe may be connected to the murder of Tobias Hughes. Based on our findings to date, we will focus our future investigative efforts not only here in Britain, but in five foreign nations of interest. We fully expect the utmost cooperation from our domestic wizarding community and our friends on the continent and look forward to identifying a shortlist of confirmed suspects in the near future. I will now take questions.”  
  
  
“Harry! Harry!” they tore in again.  
  
  
In the next few moments, Harry quietly surveyed the crowd. It was all the same faces. Gareth Clarke and Tabitha Mason from the _Prophet_ were seated front-and-center. Xenophilius Lovegood’s poor intern from _The Quibbler_ was off to their right. The small boy had mousy brown hair and a rather frail physique, looking more like a fourth or fifth-year at Hogwarts than a recent graduate. In the second row were the prominent members of the foreign press – Heinrich Muller of _Der Bote_ , Sergio Jimenez of _La Revelacion_ , Francesca Conti of _Il Sussuro Amichevole_ , and Amelie Dubois of _Le Monde Magique_. The faces in the final two rows were from further afield. Those he had not been briefed on, though the presence of one continued to surprise him. Fourth row center, for the second time in as many weeks, sat fresh-faced Gabrielle Delacour. According to Ron she apparently worked for some upstart publication called _Liberte_. He quickly turned away from the striking blonde witch.  
  
  
“Go ahead, Gareth,” Harry started.  
  
  
“Thank you. Tell us, why has it taken until now for your team to identify what seems like, and pardon me for saying so, a very _preliminary_ list?”  
  
  
Harry paused, taking a deep breath to let his irritation dissipate. “As you might imagine, when someone murders a member of the Wizengamot they’re going to be very careful. That means we do the same. Evidence is hard to come by which means we have to start with a much bigger pool. Rushing even _preliminary_ matters could be a huge mistake. Sergio?”  
  
  
“Yes. These foreign countries, can you identify them?”  
  
  
“We’re looking at a number of places across Europe. I’m not willing to be more specific than that right now.”  
  
  
“But surely it will be revealed when the inquiries are made…” the Spaniard pressed.  
  
  
“That’s a risk we have to take,” Harry acknowledged, “but I’m not going to chance alerting a potential perpetrator in any of those countries before absolutely necessary. Even a whisper of suspicion could send them out of reach. Anyone else?”  
  
  
Initially he was greeted by silence. Perhaps he would escape easily today.  
  
  
“I ‘ave a question,” Gabrielle Delacour began.  
  
  
Sadly, it was not to be his lucky day after all. “Go ahead, Gabrielle.”  
  
  
“Well, I ‘ave been sitting ‘ere for two weeks now and I cannot ‘elp but zink, we ‘ave still not gotten an answer about ze motivation.”  
  
  
“That sounds more like a comment than a question.”  
  
  
Gabrielle smiled gamely at Harry’s rebuke, fluttering her eyes before looking down for a moment. “My apologies. My question is if ze Ministry ‘as determined if zis was an assassination.”  
  
  
The journalists around the room exchanged glances with one another. Harry fixed his eyes on Gabrielle and set his jaw. It was a bold question. Even more boldly phrased. “At this time, we have determined that the most likely motive for the attack _was_ political.”  
  
  
Immediately, hushed conversations broke out amongst the writers and hands flew into the air to ask further questions. Harry raised his own hands once more to indicate that he had not finished his answer. “Please. Please. Now we have not reached _any_ conclusion about what the political objective was–”  
  
  
“Obviously someone wanted him replaced at the hearing!” shouted a reporter Harry didn’t recognize.  
  
  
“That’s unsubstantiated.”  
  
  
“Please! Harry! Do you believe this murder was a message from those who still believe in blood purification?” shouted Tabitha Hall  
  
  
“As far as we are aware, in accordance with his long-standing practice, no one knew Tobias Hughes’s stance on the _In re Walsham_ case, so I don’t want to speculate about that.”  
  
  
“But with the Minister on the verge of eliminating the last vestige of blood discrimination–”  
  
  
“And the timing of the attack–”  
  
  
“I’m not going to comment further about that,” Harry said firmly.  
  
  
“But ze brutality of ze attack…is it not most likely zat dark wizards are to blame?” Gabrielle pressed.  
  
  
“There are many different groups with many different interests related to the case and we have not ruled out any type of interest as a possible motive.”  
  
  
The reporters quickly stood, their photographers in tow and began pressing forward in an attempt to get answers from Harry one on one.  
  
  
“Alright. That’s all for today. You can direct any questions you have to Public Information Services.”  
  
  
Protests rose up loudly from all the assembled masses and flashbulbs went off one after the other all around the small room. Harry’s ire was rising as he made his wade out from behind the podium and toward the exit.  
  
  
“Harry!”  
  
  
“One more question please!”  
  
  
“The public deserves answers, Harry!”  
  
  
“Do you have a message for citizens of the wizarding world abroad?”  
  
  
The questions came in droves as the reporters pressed closer and closer in around him.  
  
  
“I’m sorry. No more questions. If you want to speak directly to someone in the Auror Office you can submit a formal request,” Harry stated brusquely, pressing his way through the crowd toward the small side door that was the only entrance into the room.  
Finally, he escaped. He strode quickly toward the lift that would take him away from the swarm and back to the comparative safety of his own office. He needed some respite before the hard day that faced him tomorrow. Harry glanced at his watch and sighed, letting his body slump against the back wall as the lift took off for his destination. He really should’ve sided with Neville. The idea of eight more hours’ work after this was positively depressing.  
  
  
 **A/N: At this point, I’m going to move pretty quickly into the meat of the story. There should be more investigative action, intrigue, and revelations. Despite the fact that the challenge deadline is quickly approaching, I am still feeling confident in my original plan, which is that there are probably about 7 to 10 more chapters left in this story before it reaches its conclusion. Note that though I did completely invent that they fled to France, the Shafiq family is not my creation, but is referenced as one of the “Sacred Twenty-Eight” pureblood families on Pottermore.**  
  
 **As for translations, I'm no foreign language specialist, but if you're interested the papers are supposed to be named the following:**  
  
 ** _Der Bote_ \- The Messenger  
 _La Revelacion_ \- The Revelation  
 _Il Sussuro Amichevole_ \- The Friendly Whisper  
 _Le Monde Magique_ \- The Magical World  
 _Liberte_ \- Liberty**  
  
 **Needless to say, appropriate accent marks are missing.**


	6. Focus

Having turned up nothing of use during his meetings with the first three of his targets, Neville reluctantly returned to the Ministry. Shuffling to his desk, the blonde Auror sat down slowly, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning his head back. He had yesterday’s sandwich lying in his desk somewhere, but at the moment hunger was the least of his concerns. His head was pounding and his eyes were sore from being willed open for so long. Neville shook his head quickly to stave off sleep. Fumbling about in his top drawer, he unstoppered two vials and quickly drank their contents, suppressing the urge to wretch at the soupy, malodorous combination.

  
  
   
“Neville,” a concerned voice rang out, “are you alright? You really don’t look well.”  
  
   
Neville waved Hermione off weakly. “Fine. Really. I was just about to come looking for you.”  
  
   
“Well, that’s a happy coincidence then,” she smiled. “Here I am.”  
  
   
The young wizard offered a smile as the potions began to take effect. Pulling out a chair for his guest, he gestured for her to sit. “Right. Well, first things first…” he began, “what can I do for you?”  
  
   
“I was hoping you’d all be in…I have some information I wanted to share. Some extra information on Tobias Hughes.”  
  
   
“Yeah, well…afraid you’ve just missed Ron, he’s off to see Cho Chang.”  
  
   
“Cho Chang?”  
  
   
“Yeah. We’re trying to run down leads from every possible angle. Afraid things aren’t going so well at the moment.”  
  
   
“Hmm,” the brown-haired witch mused. “Where’s Harry then?”  
  
   
“Could be just about anywhere. Shell Cottage, the Leaky, running down Marcus Flint…he’s been out doing interviews since eight.”  
  
   
“I suppose you can fill them in later then?”  
  
   
“Probably tomorrow, but yeah. What’ve you got?”  
  
   
“Well, while I’ve been waiting for the three of you to work up a suspect list I took the liberty of examining the minutes from all the Wizengamot hearings Hughes was ever a part of. At first I started with just the last decade, but I decided to expand it. Looking for a voting pattern, any changes or contradictions in positions, that sort of thing…”  
  
   
“And?”  
  
   
“And I’ve found some things.”  
  
   
“What kind of things?”  
  
   
“Well, from virtually the day he was appointed, Hughes was incredibly active during proceedings. There were _always_ questions from him. Questions of witnesses, barristers, even the presiding official. At least two in every single case he ever heard. He behaved himself carefully during the Thicknesse regime of course, but even then he was an active participant.”  
  
   
“Seems a bit odd for a man who never discloses his position in advance,” Neville commented.  
  
   
Hermione shrugged. “Not really. Since he doesn’t talk with anyone about the cases outside of the hearing a lot of his questioning was basically him debating himself in open court.”  
  
   
“Okay then, so what’s interesting?”  
  
   
“Well, starting about four years ago, his participation started to taper off. Criminal cases, administrative hearings, regulatory challenges, across the board.”  
  
   
“Any idea why?”  
  
   
“Matching it to a particular case, not really. At first I speculated it was down to distraction. His wife was injured in a fire that damaged their home up in Northumberland. Almost caught sleeping. She was lucky to be alive from what I understand, but St. Mungo’s was able to fix her up good as new since the fire was non-magical.”  
  
   
“At first?”  
  
   
“Well, around that same time is when Hughes started gaining a sort of following within the Wizengamot. Obviously a number of senior members had been lost during the war and so they had to be replaced. Over the last two years an increasing number of witches and wizards – ultimately up to about twelve now – developed an identical voting record to Hughes.”  
  
   
Neville considered this for a moment. “So…you’re saying he was influencing proceedings?”  
  
   
“I’m not sure,” Hermione admitted. “There’s no observable pattern to Hughes’s votes in most areas. He has some discernable preferences, but he wasn’t an ideologue.”  
  
   
“Then what’s the point of all this? I mean, if it doesn’t really mean anything, how does it help us?”  
  
   
“Well, the place his votes were the least predictable has been with respect to the reform movement. In the early going, things were too obviously necessary to oppose. Starting a few years ago though we re-entered some of the controversial areas…Hughes was completely unreliable. He supported House-Elf Rights fully, but voted against all but marginal reforms in Centaur Relations and Restrictions. Even with Purity Preference Policies and Statutes, it was hit or miss.”  
  
   
“But even with Hughes and this little following all those reforms passed. Every single one.”  
  
   
Hermione nodded. “Right. But with the exception of House-Elf Rights, support was so extensive for all those changes that even a bloc of twelve votes wasn’t going to make a difference. _In re Walsham_ was different. You know that. We’ve all heard it everywhere, especially in these halls. Hughes and his cadre could have decided things.”  
  
   
Neville threw her a skeptical glare. “That’s assuming anyone even knew about this. I mean, access to the proceedings or the minutes is incredibly limited.”  
  
   
“Not to solicitors and barristers.”  
  
   
“But to make the connection–”  
  
   
“It only took me a couple of weeks, Neville. There are people whose livelihoods depend on this reform failing. Those people also tend to have quite a lot of money at their disposal.”  
  
   
Neville waggled his head, weighing Hermione’s comments. The last remarks certainly held weight. And making the leap with her, assuming people opposed to the reform _did_ know, well…some of them had killed before or were aligned with those who did.  
  
   
“Just share it with Harry and Ron,” Hermione prodded.  
  
   
Neville slowly nodded.  
  
   
“Now what did you need from me?” Hermione asked.  
  
   
The blonde wizard looked down for a moment before taking a deep breath and fixing his eyes on his old housemate. “I suppose I’ll just cut to it then. I want you to walk me through your day on April 8th.”  
  
   
“Honestly, Neville?”  
  
   
“Running down leads from every possible angle,” he said firmly.  
  
   
Neville watched Hermione’s face as she stared at him for a moment. Her features were nearly blank, though her brow was creased slightly above her nose as she looked ahead. Her brown eyes seemed contain a mixture of understanding and irritation. As he thought about it, it was rather like his Gran’s when she looked down at him over the top of her reading glasses during his occasional visits. Yes, he detected a similar glint of benign condescension.  
  
   
“Very well,” the brown-haired witch started. “That morning I woke at around 5:30 and had breakfast. I–”  
  
   
“Sorry,” Neville interrupted, “Where was this?”  
  
   
Hermione’s eyes flashed annoyance. “Home. At my flat.”  
  
   
“Right. Carry on.”  
  
   
“As I was saying, I had breakfast. I fried an egg and had a muffin as well along with some coffee.”  
  
   
“I got dressed and Floo-ed in to work here at about 6:30.”  
  
   
“Is that typical? Getting here at 6:30?”  
  
   
Hermione cocked her head. “Well…that really depends.”  
  
   
“On what?”  
  
   
“Well,” she replied, looking down as she suppressed a flush of embarrassment, “sometimes I actually sleep at my desk.”  
  
   
“But if you’re coming from your flat?” he prompted.  
  
   
“Yes. 6:30 is relatively normal. Sometimes I make it by 6:15, but usually it’s 6:30.”  
  
   
“And what did you do when you got in?”  
  
   
“I went to my office and stayed there doing research on possible avenues to get around an adverse Wizengamot ruling if it came to that.”  
  
   
“When is the first time someone can confirm you were in your office?”  
  
   
“The first visitor I got was Ron at around nine.”  
  
   
“What was that about?”  
  
   
“Lunch that day. He wanted to know if I’d be free what with the hearing the next day. We were supposed to meet at a Muggle restaurant a few blocks away, but I lost track of time.”  
  
   
“So you lunched alone?”  
  
   
“No,” Hermione replied, a genuine smile crossing her face for the first time. “Ron actually remembered my order and brought it to my office after I was thirty minutes late.”  
  
   
“When was that exactly?”  
  
   
“Between one and two in the afternoon. Like I said, I lost track of time. I remember Ron left around two.”  
  
   
“What did you do the rest of the day?”  
  
   
“More research. Same subject.”  
  
   
“Any other visitors?”  
  
   
“Of course. A couple barristers for wizards facing minor charges. My assistant was in and out all afternoon needing my signature.”  
  
   
“When did you last see her?”  
  
   
“Probably around six. The poor thing is fresh out of Hogwarts. She thought she had to wait on me.”  
  
   
“What time did you leave that night?”  
  
   
“I didn’t. I fell asleep working.”  
  
   
“Hell Hermione,” Neville gasped, shaking his head. “When was that?”  
  
   
“Honestly, I can’t give you an exact time. It would’ve been after one the next day for sure.”  
  
   
Neville ran a hand through his blonde hair before leaning forward. “Anybody who can place you here after six?”  
  
   
“Well my boss, Helena Garrick, stopped by at around eight. She was going home to sleep before the hearing.”  
  
   
“What did you talk about?”  
  
   
“Just the hearing. What we thought the chances were that the decree would be upheld.”  
  
   
“What _did_ you think the chances were?”  
  
   
“It was impossible to say. It was going to be very close. I felt quietly confident though and I said as much.”  
  
   
“How long did that conversation last?”  
  
   
“Oh, no more than fifteen minutes.”  
  
   
Neville sighed. “So who can account for your whereabouts between 8:15 that night and 12:30 the next morning?”  
  
   
Hermione cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms confidently. “I suppose the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol will do?”  
  
   
For the first time during the interview, Neville felt relieved. “The Patrol would be brilliant.”  
  
   
“Well, you’ll have to get the watch log. I don’t remember the wizard’s name from that night. He was a definitely a wizard though, younger than us. He took my wand when I went in the records vault to do more research. I was there from probably nine until one the next day, so they should have it noted.”  
  
   
“Right,” Neville said simply, standing and waving his hand to indicate that Hermione was free to leave. “Well, I’ve got to run and get that record so I can finish my report. I’ll let you know if we have any more questions.”  
  


* * *

  
  
   
Across London, Harry Potter stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. On a Thursday afternoon, now toward the end of the lunch rush, the pub was relatively unoccupied with just some grizzled old wizards lurking in the corners and a pair of young witches who couldn’t have been much younger than him gabbing at a table in the center of the room. Harry spotted Hannah Abbott behind the bar. The blonde witch had just finished clearing the now empty bar, tucking the end of a towel back into her waistband. Sauntering up to the bar he took a seat on the far right side, away from as many prying ears as possible.  
  
   
Spinning around quickly, Hannah was the first to speak. “Alright then si – err – Harry! Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”  
  
   
“It is!” Harry replied warmly, returning her smile. “Though I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”  
  
   
“A confession? To a bartender?”  
  
   
“I know,” he said, feigning shame and shaking his head in mock disappointment. “It’s just that I’m afraid my running into you here is only a surprise for one of us.”  
  
   
“Ooh,” Hannah replied, intrigued. “Official business? To what do I owe the intrusion?”  
  
   
“Well…I know this will come as a shock to you too, but I’ve just recently figured out that when it comes to crime,” Harry said, dropping his voice to a whisper momentarily, “folks at the Leaky Cauldron tend to know more than they should.”  
  
   
Hannah shook her head. “I can’t help you with that, Harry. Look around. It’s not as rough a crowd here as it used to be. We’ve got you to thank for that.”  
  
   
“Come on, surely you heard _something_ …I know that Knockturn Alley lot still filter in from time to time. It’s been a little while now…”  
  
   
“I’d tell you if I knew. You know that,” she replied, fixing him with a hard stare. “Look, let me give you a drink on the house. You look like you need one.”  
  
   
Harry wagged a finger. “Working.”  
  
   
“Suit yourself,” Hannah shrugged. “Though from what I’m seeing you need to do a bit less work.”  
  
   
“Been talking to Neville again have you?” Harry smirked, looking at his former schoolmate over the top of his glasses.  
  
   
Facing away from him, Hannah allowed herself to blush lightly before looking over her shoulder and winking. “By owl only!” she grumbled. “He has this _awful_ boss who just–”  
  
   
“Shut it,” Harry barked, rolling his eyes. “I’ve got to run. More work to be done. You know where to find us if you hear anything.”  
  
   
“I do,” replied Hannah as Harry hauled himself up to leave. “Oh, and Harry?”  
  
   
“Yeah?”  
  
   
“How’d you know about me and Neville talking?”  
  
   
Harry smirked again. “Ron mentioned he’d been spending a lot of time here. Let’s just say I finally outgrew being as thick as Ron.”  
  
   
Hannah chuckled lightly before raising a finger to her lips. “Neville doesn’t know you know.”  
  
   
Harry shook his head. “Then you’ve got your work cut out because Ron must not be the only thick one.”  
  


* * *

  
  
   
“Open the door, Parkinson!” Ron bellowed as he thumped the knocker at the entrance of the guest house three more times. “Bloody guest house is bigger than home,” Ron muttered darkly, staring up into the gray sky that was beginning to rain in earnest.  
  
   
After several more minutes, the door finally opened. “What do you want, Weasley?” Pansy spat.  
  
   
Ron immediately pushed past the dark-haired witch and stepped inside. “Official business,” he grunted, digging his badge out and flashing it in the young woman’s face.  
  
   
Pansy slammed the door behind him. “You’ve got some nerve stomping right into my house, Weasley. Forgot your manners?”  
  
   
“Same place you left yours I suppose.”  
  
   
Pansy harrumphed. “I have guests tonight. They’ll want the place rid of your smell by the time they arrive.”  
  
   
“See, you’re helping me out already. Who’s coming over?”  
  
   
“I don’t have–”  
  
   
“You _do_ have to. Unless you want to take this little chat someplace else. I would hate the food you’ve paid your house-elf to cook to go to waste…”  
  
   
Pansy scowled, extending an arm down the hallway, before heading off. Ron followed a few paces behind until they reached a sitting room off to the right. The elegantly carved dark wood paneling on the bottom half of the walls was paired with silver and green striped wallpaper and the red-haired Auror noted there was no shortage of finery on the myriad tables scattered about the room near the deep green loveseat and velvet upholstered chairs. Still looking cross, she eased herself into one of the chairs.  
  
   
Ron seated himself directly across from her. “You were about to tell me who’s coming to dinner.”  
  
   
“Draco and his latest, Astoria Greengrass. Blaise by portkey from France along with a friend, Adalie Shafiq. Their arrivals have all been approved by the Ministry. I don’t see what concern it is of yours.”  
  
   
“That’s for me to worry about.”  
  
   
Pansy rolled her eyes.  
  
   
“Why are they coming over?”  
  
   
“Why does anyone have company for dinner, Weasley? Though I suppose you wouldn’t have much experience…”  
  
   
Ron twisted his neck to the right, feeling it crack before clenching and unclenching his fists. “Catching up then?”  
  
   
Pansy merely nodded, an amused expression playing across her face.  
  
   
“Fine. You don’t want to talk about dinner, let’s talk about April 8th. Where were you?”  
  
   
“April 8th? No idea. Probably here. Where else can I go really thanks to your lot?”  
  
   
“Yeah, well…if it’s all the same to you I’m going to need you to jog your memory.”  
  
   
“April 8th…a Thursday. Well I certainly would’ve been here in the morning. I host a tea on Thursdays. I help less…aware…mothers bring up their wonderful little witches up nicely.”  
  
   
Ron’s cheeks bulged as he suppressed a laugh.  
  
   
The dark-haired witch glared at him from across the room. “Something amusing, Weasley? I’d _love_ to be a fly on the wall when your precious sister tries to mingle with high society.”  
  
   
“You don’t worry about my sister,” shot back Ron quickly. “Let’s just move on.”  
  
   
“Hmm…well after the tea, I usually lunch with Daphne and Millicent.”  
  
   
“And then?”  
  
   
“Some days I walk the gardens. Others I’ll get out and shop a bit. It really depends. Was it a cold day?”  
  
   
“Not particularly.”  
  
   
“Then maybe I did both. Some time in early April…or maybe it was March I spent all afternoon refilling my wardrobe, trips to Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.”  
  
   
“Yeah. You’re sounding real oppressed…” Ron muttered.  
  
   
“You’ve no idea what it’s like!” Pansy snapped. “I had plans for my life too you know, but that’s all gone now. They’re only too eager to have some wide-eyed little bootlicker, but not me. I wore the wrong color at school.”  
  
   
“Right. Sure. Cry about it to your friends tonight.”  
  
   
“Get out!” Pansy spat, her face reddening.  
  
   
“Yeah, I’ll go,” Ron retorted as he stood up and backed out of the room. “Somebody’ll be back Parkinson,” he called out. “You better have some real answers when they do!”  
  


* * *

  
  
   
Darkness had already fallen when Harry arrived at Shell Cottage. Immediately the smell and sound of the sea filled his ears and he paused for a moment in the very spot where he had apparated, closing his eyes to more fully join with his new environment. He inhaled deeply, sucking the salty air into his lungs and leaning his neck back slowly. Opening his eyes once more, he could see the stars spattering the cloudless sky. No matter the occasion, Harry always found these trips a sobering reminder of the type of peaceful existence he promised himself that he and Ginny would one day have.  
  
   
Easing his head back down, he found the silhouette of the cottage, small lights peeking out from through the windows. Almost immediately his eyes were drawn to a particular section of the garden. Harry felt his body stiffen slightly as the familiar sense of loss invaded the space between his heart and stomach. He was drawn, inevitably to the end of the garden and the familiar sight of a lonely headstone. Shedding his cloak, he sank slowly to his knees. It was at this moment that it always took him. First the pain, followed immediately by the two-fold guilt. Guilt that another life had been sacrificed to save his. Guilt that he had been unable to rescue his own savior. Occasionally, Harry found himself wracked with a deeper conflict, but he was relieved that it didn’t choose this time to visit him. Rising, he gathered his cloak and drank in the smells and sounds once more. As it always had when Harry truly forced it, the urge to sob subsided and he pressed on toward the cottage door.  
  
   
Fifteen minutes later, Fleur Weasley returned to the kitchen from upstairs.  
  
   
“ ‘Arry! It is so good to see you!” the blonde-haired witch exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “Ze little ones…when zey come for you and Ginny…it is too ‘ard to leave zem to sleep sometimes.”  
  
    
“It’s good to see you too,” Harry answered, pulling out of the embrace. “How are Victoire and Dominique?”  
  
   
“For ze moment? Perfect,” she smiled. “Victoire will last, but our Dominique…it seems she is not ready to sleep ze ‘ole night yet.”  
  
   
“I know about long nights,” Harry sighed.  
  
   
Bill chuckled. “Not like these…”  
  
   
The three let their smiles fill the silence for a moment before Bill spoke again.  
  
   
“So…what brings you out our way so urgently? We’d love to believe it’s all for us, but…”  
  
   
Harry groaned. “Well, I’m afraid it is business. We’re not in a good place in this investigation. I’m starting to look at foreign connections and I was hoping maybe Fleur could answer some questions about France.”  
  
   
“It ‘as been some time now, but certainly, if I can answer I will.”  
  
   
“It’s mostly related to an old pure-blood family that left Britain for France back in the 1950s.”  
  
   
“Ze Shafiqs?”  
  
   
“Exactly. You know them?”  
  
   
“I ‘ave ‘eard stories.”  
  
   
“What kind of stories?” Harry pressed.  
  
   
“Ze Shafiqs were…different. We lived far apart, but…zey were very focused on blood. First, people believed it was just ze British against ze French. Ze children did not speak ze language. Zey did not study at Beauxbatons. But still zey were very strong. Very rich. How could zis be? It was later people learned why zey came. Like…Voldemort…zis focus was about purity.”  
  
   
“Were they ever violent?”  
  
   
“Not zat I know. People would say strange theengs ‘appened near ze place zey lived, but not more. Zey would send ze children back ‘ere to marry. I theenk only a daughter is left now. She will be ze last Shafiq.”  
  
   
“What kind of things are we talking about?”  
  
   
“Always nature. Ze clouds, ze wind…fires. People believed it was a strange magic.”  
  
   
“And this daughter…”  
  
   
“I am sorry. I do not know.”  
  
   
“Do you know if there are any records? A place where I could search?”  
  
   
“No. No. ‘Arry? You truly theenk ze Shafiqs are behind zis murder?”  
  
   
Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. It’s…we just have very little. Whoever did it…they just…I don’t know. I’m just exploring every option right now.”  
  
   
A cry rang out from upstairs, immediately drawing Fleur’s attention.  
  
   
“Go ahead,” Harry waved. “I’ve bothered you long enough. It’s probably a waste of time anyway…”  
  
   
“Anything we can do to help Harry,” Bill said firmly as Harry stood to don his cloak once more.  
  
   
“Thanks Bill. And thank Fleur again for me too. Hopefully this will all be wrapped up soon and I can see you on better terms.”  
  
   
“Agreed. And stay safe Harry,” the red-haired wizard said, clapping Harry on the back with one hand.  
  
   
 **A/N: So this was a longer chapter, but I felt strongly we needed to get through this segment so that things can continue developing. Thanks to all who are reading and especially to those of you who have left feedback. It is definitely appreciated. I would love to know what any of you out there think of this chapter in particular too. Characterizations? The background on Hughes? The mysterious Shafiqs?**


	7. Revision

The following morning, Harry returned to work promptly at six, looking forward to the shorter day he had been pressured into by Neville and Ron. If his mind would allow it, there would be time for a bit of relaxation that evening, and even more importantly, time to make some dent in the sizeable sleep deficit he had accrued since the investigation began. Shedding his cloak and setting down his coffee, Harry was surprised to see Neville’s chair still empty.

  
  
   
“Sorry Harry,” Neville panted as he hurried back into the room, cheeks flushed and robes slightly wrinkled. “Got a bit caught up.”  
  
   
“I’d say…” Harry responded, cocking an eyebrow. “Anyway…let’s get to it.”  
  
   
Neville plopped down in his chair, still breathing rapidly.  
  
   
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll start then. There’s nothing on Flint. He’s not in touch with any of the more troublesome families. Even holding down a job on an semi-professional Quidditch team. Justin and Hannah were dead ends. Fleur was the real trick.”  
  
   
“How so?”  
  
   
“Gave me some information on the Shafiqs in France. It’s all second-hand, but apparently they’re known purists. History of odd events going on around where they lived. Strange magic. The name’s almost died out though from what I understand. They keep marrying here, but they always go back to France. It’s supposedly just a daughter left now.”  
  
   
“Any real connection though? I mean aside from the purity element.”  
  
   
“Not that I know of yet, but according to Fleur they never integrated in France. So they’ve been living in isolation for decades, but still with enormous wealth. I imagine money still ties them here.”  
  
   
Neville looked skeptical.  
  
   
“Hey…it’s the only thing that could pass for a lead from my group,” Harry defended, raising his hands.  
  
   
The blonde wizard shrugged. “I suppose I don’t have anything more concrete myself. Got further on Hughes than I did with anybody in my part of the list.”  
  
   
“Hughes? I thought you already ran that background.”  
  
   
“I did. Didn’t check the minutes of his hearings though.”  
  
   
“Hermione?” Harry asked.  
  
   
“Yeah. Turns out Hughes developed quite the little group of followers over the past several years. Obviously there are a lot of new members these days, but there are twelve who have voted with Hughes every single time since they joined.”  
  
   
“So what are you saying? They were colluding? Pushing some agenda?”  
  
   
“Hermione doesn’t think so. Hughes’s positions were too scattered. Her point was someone could have noticed that many votes going in the same direction every time.”  
  
   
Harry looked upward, rubbing the stubble on his chin.  
  
   
“It sounded more like something for bribery or blackmail to me,” offered Neville.  
  
   
Harry suddenly wagged a finger. “Unless that _failed_. Like you said, Hughes’s positions were scattered. All the information we have on him…he had principles. So he refuses. Whoever isn’t going to take the chance of getting exposed. Or even if he doesn’t turn them in, of losing.”  
  
   
Neville nodded in agreement.  
  
   
“Course there is another alternative…” Harry said soberly.  
  
   
“Yeah?”  
  
   
“Hughes had already gone crooked. Somebody finds out about _that_ – same result I’d imagine.”  
  
   
“Why not just have him removed then or, again, flip him? If he’s no saint then it’d probably do the job.”  
  
   
“You know how it is. Some things are bigger than politics. If not these reforms, then what?”  
  


* * *

  
  
   
Roughly eight hours later, Harry arrived in the staff waiting area at St. Mungo’s. With Ron nowhere to be seen, he immediately approached the wizard on guard. “Where’s Ron Weasley?”  
  
   
“Just went back that way,” the young man said, pointing down the hall toward Maithwaite’s office.  
  
   
“How long?”  
  
   
“Maybe a minute?”  
  
   
Harry bolted off down the hallway, jogging briskly in hopes of not missing anything. When he rounded the final corner he quickly slowed, already hearing raised voices.  
  
   
“What do you _mean_ you don’t know who it was?”  
  
   
“It was an official Ministry memorandum. Everything was in order – the forms, the codes, the delivery,” the squat man protested.  
  
   
“This might just be the case of your bloody lifetime! One of the most senior members of the Wizengamot! Whose code is this?”  
  
   
“You know I can’t just–”  
  
   
“This isn’t just some minor measurement mistake. We’re talking about new evidence!” Ron bellowed.  
  
   
“I would need my reference book…I don’t feel comfortable…” Maithwaite muttered.  
  
   
Harry entered the room, his face stern. “I don’t think either of us really cares much how you feel at the moment,” he said evenly.  
  
   
The Healer reached for the right side of his desk with one hand, while surreptitiously burying the other in his robes. Carefully, he slid open a drawer and reached inside. Stealing a glance at the two Aurors in front of him, he attempted to quickly draw his wand, but instantly felt a wand at his throat. Maithwaite’s body stiffened, his face going pale almost instantly.  
  
   
“Let it go,” Ron hissed. “Harry?”  
  
   
Wand also drawn, Harry saw Maithwaite’s hand unclench within his robes. He nodded.  
  
   
“We’re going to do this slowly,” Ron said. “Harry’s going to come around and take that wand out of your pocket. Then we’re going to have a nice little chat like we always planned on. Any funny business and I’ll let you have it.”  
  
   
The ashen-faced coroner made no move as Harry dug into his robes and extracted the wand. Tossing it on the desk, he walked back and leaned sideways against one of the imposing filing cabinets.  
  
   
At the same time, Ron grabbed the older wizard’s wand before pulling back his own. He flashed a hard glare at Maithwaite while their faces were still close together before he eventually took a seat in one of the empty chairs.  
  
   
The visibly shaken older wizard dipped his hand back into the desk drawer, rummaging for a moment before producing a thin, red book that was leather-bound. Opening it to the appropriate page, he hesitated.  
  
   
“The code,” Harry repeated icily. “Whose is it?”  
  
   
“7A-462. Helena Garrick.”  
  
   
Harry’s brow crinkled for a moment. “I want you to tell us exactly how you got orders to revisit this autopsy.”  
  
   
“As I said,” Maithwaite began with annoyance, “everything was in order. The red envelope arrived with a uniformed patrol witch. She showed me her badge and left the envelope. The appropriate charms had been used to seal the envelope, with the initialed wax seal in the center. I recognized the code in the top right corner, but I checked it against my book to be certain. There was a valid match, so I opened it.”  
  
   
“What was inside?”  
  
   
Maithwaite rolled his eyes and exhaled. “Must I repeat _everything_? It was an official Ministry memorandum. In the correct form, again with the initialed wax seal and matching code.”  
  
   
“And what specifically did this form ask you to do?”  
  
   
“I was directed to re-examine the decedent’s back.”  
  
   
“And?”  
  
   
“And that’s when I discovered them of course. We’re fortunate really. You should both be _pleased_ ,” the coroner said curtly. “Storming into my office, ordering me to break standard procedure…”  
  
   
“Nobody _ordered_ you to do anything,” said Harry.  
  
   
“Oh of course, yes, it was just a kind suggestion I suppose,” Maithwaite snapped bitterly.  
  
   
“Last I checked, I just asked you whose code it was,” Ron nonchalantly replied.  
  
   
“And then you tried to draw your wand on us,” added Harry.  
  
   
Maithwaite scowled.  
  
   
“You know Harry,” Ron began, “what I’d like to know is how such an experienced Healer misses this at the first go.”  
  
   
“An excellent question,” Harry agreed.  
  
   
“The markings weren’t visible before. It was only later that they appeared. As I said, we were fortunate that the funeral had to be delayed for a Ministry-sponsored affair.”  
  
   
“And you’re confident they’re from a wand?”  
  
   
“Unless you have an indication of the presence of some other object with a similarly small tip that could have been used to prod the victim of a magical killing…” Maithwaite answered dully.  
  
   
Harry glared at the man.  
  
   
“Well then,” Ron said, standing as he spoke, “I think we’re done here. It’s been brilliant as always…”  
  
   
“Kindly leave,” Maithwaite said coolly.  
  


* * *

  
  
   
A short time later, Harry and Ron found themselves back in the Auror Office. “So, we ought to go ahead and catch up then I reckon,” Ron ventured, slumping into his chair.  
  
   
“May as well get it over with,” Harry agreed. “Did you come up with anything?”  
  
   
“Aside from remembering how much I hate Pansy Parkinson? Afraid not.”  
  
   
“She was a total waste as well then?”  
  
   
“Yeah. Deliberately kept me waiting in the rain and then got all pissy because I was interrupting her preparations for her dinner party.”  
  
   
“Anybody interesting?”  
  
   
“Just who you’d expect. Malfoy and his girl. Zabini coming in from France. Oh! There was one odd name. Coming with Zabini…”  
  
   
“Shafiq?”  
  
   
“Yeah! That’s it! Adalie I think. Did you come up with something on them?”  
“Sort of. They’re part of the reason I was looking into France. They used to be a prominent pureblood family here in Britain until they left in the 1950s.”  
  
   
“Weird.”  
  
   
“Yeah, well, I asked Fleur about them last night. She could only share stories really, but she said they’re definitely pureblood fanatics. Lots of money. Completely isolated themselves in France, but they keep sending children back here to get married. Name’s just about on the verge of going dead though. This Adalie girl, maybe she was the daughter Fleur was talking about.”  
  
   
“Well, if she’s having dinner with that lot, she’s bound to be bad news,” grumbled Ron.  
  
   
“Did you get an idea how long she’d be here?”  
  
   
“No…but Parkinson did say the travel was all approved by the Ministry. I’ll check the Portkey Office and pull their itinerary.”  
  
   
“Good idea. Go back to around the murder too. See any of them were in-country – the Shafiqs or Zabinis.”  
  
   
“What about you?”  
  
   
“I’m off to confront Garrick about that memo. Then more follow-up on Hermione’s idea from earlier down in the Archives.”  
  
   
“ _Hermione’s_ idea?”  
  
   
“Right,” said Harry, shaking his head at the oversight. “I got so worked up over this business with Maithwaite…seems there’s a chance somebody was trying to influence Hughes’s vote…or he’d gone crooked.”  
  
   
“Big surprise…though why kill him? One vote hardly makes a difference.”  
  
   
“Yeah, well, it’s a bit more complicated than that. Seems he had about twelve members who mirrored his every vote.”  
  
   
“Hell. I thought Hughes never shared his vote…”  
  
   
“Did he have to?” Harry scoffed. “You know how they call it. It’s hardly a blind process. We ought to get Kingsley to tackle _that_ next come to think of it.”  
  
   
“Good luck,” Ron chuckled. “I think Kingsley might be wanting a vacation soon.”  
  
   
“That makes at least four of us I think. Not sure about Hermione…” Harry joked, glancing sidelong at his red-haired friend.  
  
   
“Heh,” Ron responded tepidly. “I think I might drop by there before I go scour the portkey records. See if I might convince her to have dinner.”  
  
   
“Good luck to you,” Harry said pointedly. “Just don’t ask her to the Leaky,” he needled, recalling Ron’s most recent ill-fated attempt at enticing Hermione away from a working evening. “Better odds.”  
  
   
“Sod off! Git!” Ron barked, tossing a wad of parchment from his wastebasket in Harry’s direction as his raven-haired friend walked away.  
  
   
 **A/N: Concrete leads for the team! And even some possible connections! I know it’s taken awhile to get here so thanks for bearing with me. The next chapter will be quite a bit different, but then we’ll be in the thick of it again as we sprint for the finish. Thanks as always for reading! Burning question for this chapter – is this investigation moving too quickly?**


	8. Interlude

Of the whole affair, this was quite possibly the part that irritated Harry most – the procession. As he waited for the doors to be flung wide, he took the moment to peek at Ginny. As she looked ahead, Harry could see her bright brown eyes sparkling, the confident smile presently on her lips playing out spectacularly across her freckled face. Harry delighted in the fact that even on these most pretentious of occasions, Ginny maintained the more natural approach she took to her appearance. Her hair was fixed with two thin braids around the side that joined together at the back of her head, the majority of her fiery red locks left hanging just past her shoulders. Of course, Ginny had found a way to rise to the occasion with a stunning gold dress that had cast Harry’s memory immediately back to Bill and Fleur’s wedding. The garment hugged her toned body in all the right places, leaving a bedeviling amount of her soft skin on display while somehow remaining entirely tasteful.

  
  
   
Her small cough drew his attention to the playful smirk on her face. He smiled back warmly, winking in acknowledgment that he had been caught appreciating her again. She nodded slightly toward the door, fixing her eyes forward once more. Harry did likewise, offering her his elbow. He took a deep breath. If he could only apparate them away at this precise moment to some lonely hilltop…but alas, it was wishful thinking. Soon – too soon – this would pass, and they would be thrust once again into an unwanted limelight.  
  
  
Thanks to the wonders of the Sonorus Charm, he could already hear Kingsley begin the annual speech, leading with the same paragraph he had for the last two years. He was a good man, but being a particularly inventive speaker clearly was not among his array of formidable talents. Harry turned his head to look behind him. Ron winked, continuing to mouth the speech word for word. Unfortunately for his red-haired friend, Hermione also took notice, giving Ron’s arm a smack and shooting him a disapproving glare. Harry shook his head, emitting a low chuckle.  
  
  
Ginny shot Harry a knowing glance, her eyes full of mirth. “Is he in trouble already? We’ve not even gotten inside…” she muttered.  
  
  
“Looks that way. Caught mocking Kingsley’s memorable intro, I think.”  
  
  
Ginny mocked a gasp, covering her mouth with her free left hand. “Merlin! Is nothing sacred?”  
  
  
Harry shrugged his eyebrows. “You know Hermione. She’s always taken the Victory Ball a bit seriously…”  
  
  
Suddenly he felt a something jab him in the back sharply. “It’s a serious event!” Hermione hissed.  
  
  
“It’s an oppor–”  
  
  
Harry felt Ginny’s elbow in his ribs. “Let’s _not_ this time, love,” she said, smiling sweetly.  
  
  
“Right. Sorry Hermione,” Harry said begrudgingly.  
  
  
The only response he heard from his brown-haired friend was a snoot of forgiveness as the speech ended and the tall, ornately-carved double doors leading to the already packed ballroom swung open.  
  
  
And so their march finally began. Beginning with the inaugural event in 1999, the evening officially commenced when the Minister welcomed a parade of battle veterans and others who had actively resisted both Voldemort’s ideals and puppet regime. Harry considered it primarily a publicity stunt, especially given the apology he always received from Kingsley later, but he endured it gamely.  
  
  
Yet there was part of him that didn’t entirely bristle at the pageantry. The war’s end was not so long ago. Light had come quickly enough, but it was far from immediate. Countless lives had been changed forever by death, destruction, or simply by the constantly looming prospect of either. Perhaps this all brought some measure of comfort to those in attendance. He considered the image. Our heroes live. They look normal, stable, unscathed. I’m finally safe again. Dutifully, Harry remembered to smile and wave.  
  
  
The circuitous path to the honorees took to their tables ensured that all in attendance could catch a glimpse. Harry always took this opportunity to see who the Ministry had seen fit to deem ‘special guests’. Often prominent figures from abroad or powerful people in foreign ministries, they were seated on the far right of the ballroom, their tables featuring glitzy placards and pairs of small flags representing their countries of origin that were charmed to wave intermittently on their tiny poles as if flying in the breeze. This year the political guests were fairly mundane. There was Maximilian Schutz, the German Oberste Kanzler, serving his third tour of duty at the event. His contingent shared a table with Colin Byrne, the Irish Minister, and his closest advisers. France and Italy had sent seemingly more obligatory delegations, given that Harry recognized none of the names or faces.  
  
  
However, this year’s list was not without intrigue. As they passed last table in the VIP seating area, Ginny was unable to completely muffle her gasp as upon sighting a quartet of historic Seekers past-and-present from around the globe. Their table’s centerpiece was quite unlike the others, featuring a broomstick crossed with a beater’s bat and a miniaturized Quaffle dancing around a comparably shrunken faux Golden Snitch. Among them, Harry noted with some surprise was their old acquaintance, Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian gave Harry a nod and a sympathetic half-smile before the procession turned into the last leg of its journey.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
One four-course dinner and countless inane conversations and hurried handshakes later, Harry and Ginny returned to their modest flat. Lazily flicking her wand to turn on the light in the nearby kitchen, Ginny waited as Harry restored the enchantments around the entrance.  
  
  
“Lovely night wasn’t it?” she quipped.  
  
  
“Brilliant,” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. “Especially when you add having to weather Ron and Hermione’s little spat over her ten minute conversation with Krum and the rest of the international Quidditch elite.”  
  
  
Ginny chuckled lightly. “Well it was all so _clandestine_ , Harry. And Krum _did_ give her a present…”  
  
  
“From the look of the box it looked like it might be a fancy letter-opener,” Harry snorted. “And clandestine? We saw it. I’m sure half the lot there did.”  
  
  
Extracting her small feet from the elegant pair of heels she had worn all night, Ginny grabbed both sides of Harry’s jacket, tugging him out of the doorway. “Come on you. Quit being so grumpy with me.”  
  
  
“We only got one dance tonight too. I think I’m entitled to a bit of grumpiness.”  
  
  
“Poor thing,” Ginny mocked, striding quickly toward the bedroom with her shoes held carefully in one hand.  
  
  
Upon reaching the threshold, the fiery red-head paused and extended an arm, leaning against the frame seductively. She closed her eyes, twisting her neck slowly before shaking her head gently and stopping to look at Harry. Her bright brown eyes met his emerald ones as a smile crossed her lips.  
  
  
Harry had watched every moment carefully, her gold dress, delicate skin, and striking red hair standing out sharply in the dim light. As she had rotated her head, he had been able to follow a pleasing single line of her body, from the bottom of her bare legs past her hips and along the contrasting curves of her trim waist and breast. His gaze lingered there for a moment, enjoying the shape of her tight body beneath the well-fitting dress, while Ginny’s eyes remained closed. He made a mental note to express his sincerest gratitude to the Harpies’ fitness coach at the next game he attended. Luckily, he still noticed her head come back around and immediately refocused on her face, his eyes waiting when she opened hers. Shedding his formal robes and jacket in the living room, he strode toward her. With a smirk and a soft giggle, Ginny made for the bed as Harry quickly undid his bowtie, tossing it onto their empty couch.  
  
  
When he passed through the door, Ginny was waiting, sitting on top of their bed carefully propped up with the mountain of real and decorative pillows behind her. He swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the floor as he unfastened his belt buckle. Still, she remained motionless, watching him intently as the smirk on her face widened. Moments later, Harry stood at the foot of the bed wearing only his briefs, a trail of his other clothing in his wake.  
  
  
Ginny locked eyes with her husband again, tucking some stray hair behind her ear and trailing her hand down her neck and body until it reached the top of her dress. She relished teasing Harry when he was like this, overworked and agitated by the day’s events. These were the times he couldn’t conceal his need. Seeing the way he had responded to her simple pose and how quickly he had strode in, she reveled in the knowledge that it was that much closer. Now, it was written all over his face, no place more clearly than the lustful yearning she could make it in his eyes. It really was bad of her to tease him, but she could never resist. The Harry that came next was too enjoyable. The one who would storm to the top of the bed in a moment, full of frustration and desires that their hectic schedules too often forced them to delay releasing. The one who would grab her tightly and kiss her roughly, melting her thoughts of teasing into mindless passion. Ginny let out a muffled mew of satisfaction. Once again, he was right on schedule.  
  
  
Harry kissed his wife hard, pressing his body into hers as his hand wrapped around to unzip her dress. As they broke apart for her to slide it down he watched her freckled cheeks flush and her breaths grow more rapid. She always teased him worst when he needed her most, but in the end there was no hiding the fact that she was as desperate for this as he was. The moment the dress had been discarded he claimed her lips again, her mouth yielding to his tongue’s demand for entrance. Ginny moaned again as his hands roamed over her body. Their eyes met for a moment as they briefly separated, Harry’s wordless instruction abundantly clear. He watched appreciatively as Ginny slowly removed the lingerie she had so carefully selected earlier in the evening. Casting them aside, her hands moved to slide over her body in a sensual display that made Harry burn. He was captivated by her devilish smile as she moved, cat-like, toward him, capturing his lips again and again in a short series of gentle kisses. Harry knew of course that the kisses were all a distraction from her true target, and he playfully nipped her bottom lip as she swiftly tugged down his briefs. Kicking them off, he grabbed Ginny’s wrists and pushed down, pinning her firmly to the bed.  
  
  
Ginny inhaled deeply, her heart beating fast as her anticipation built. Strong and demanding what exactly what she wanted tonight. After weeks without, playing the part of the fiery, fearless professional athlete perfectly, she yearned to be tamed as only Harry could tame her.  
  
  
Harry smirked as he re-positioned himself slightly. He looked down as Ginny pouted at the increased distance, squirming to bring their bodies closer again.  
  
  
“Harry…” she begged.  
  
  
He pulled back further, watching her carefully.  
  
  
“Harry!” Ginny groaned in frustration.  
  
  
He waited for the proper moment, when the desire in her eyes matched his. At the first flash of it, he lowered himself quickly. Her earlier teasing had hurt his discipline. Harry banished the thought, surrendering to the urges raging within him, as both husband and wife lost themselves in their passion for one another.  
  
  
Later, when both had finally regained themselves fully, Ginny smiled as she laid her head on Harry’s chest, snuggling tightly to him. One arm rested on his firm abdomen while her other reached up to her own shoulder, allowing her fingers to entwine with his. She could feel the warm metal of her rings pressing into her flesh. Even after three years of marriage, these blissful moments could not help but be mixed with a sense of disbelief. To think that they had _really_ found each other, that their lives had changed so much for the better in so short a time was still slightly overwhelming. Then briefly, she considered all they’d been through. Warmth and satisfaction surged through her. They deserved this.  
  
  
Seeing his wife lost in pleasant thoughts made Harry’s smile widen. With his free hand he gently stroked her hair, leaning his head down to place a tender kiss on her forehead. As she sighed contentedly, Harry leaned just a bit further to whisper in her ear. He squeezed her hand. “I love you.”  
  
  
After a short time laying in one another’s arms, the couple fell asleep soundly, clothes, covers, and clandestine meetings long forgotten.  
  
  
 **A/N: This chapter was definitely a change of pace and deliberately so. First, I felt the investigation piece needed to slow down a bit. However, there are also important pieces throughout the entirety of this chapter that will be tied up or tied in later. I am interested in people’s objective feedback on the second half of the chapter, as I’ve not written such a scene before. Was it written effectively? Believable for Harry and Ginny? I’d love to hear from you.**  
  
For those interested, Oberste Kanzler is German for Supreme Chancellor. It's supposed to be the equivalent of the Minister for Magic.  



	9. Adalie

Early May found the last Shafiq walking amongst the masses in Muggle Marseille. The brunette witch’s long, wavy tresses rippled in the gentle wind as she strode confidently through the city in her soft pink sundress. Strutting gracefully in a pair of fashionable wedge sandals, she had no trouble catching the attention of many would-be male suitors as she passed by. The comely witch was well-used to the attention by now, holding her chin high as she brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face.

  
  
    
On her left, Adalie could easily make out the familiar alleyway with the hidden entrance to Marche Central, the major wizarding shopping district in the city. She entered it carefully, casting furtive glances to the left and right before turning her back to the passersby and producing her wand. Pointing it at the oddly-colored stone a few paces in front of her, she raised it sharply, drawing a circle in the air and twisting her wrist to the right. In front of her an almost transparent curtain shimmered and the young witch stepped forward through it, finding herself immediately immersed in the chaotic atmosphere of the wizarding community. Adalie quickly waved a wand over herself, transfiguring her Muggle outfit into more suitable wizarding attire.  
  
  
Since her parents were killed almost a year ago while vacationing in the Swiss Alps, Adalie had spent most of her days here or in another wizarding locale, trying to absorb what years of isolation and a strictly English household had deprived her of. Over time it had finally started to sink in. The language. The manners. The reason so many children walked about come late August in matching outfits of powder blue. She had gone home to celebrate each milestone. Still, each celebration was private and immensely lonely. As they slowly stacked up, Adalie began to think on her late parents with increasing bitterness. Why had she not gone to school like the others? Why had she been left with no idea what they were saying for so long? How did her parents expect her to live a life like theirs, full of servants and riches, but no connection to the outside world?  
  
  
It had been sheer happenstance that she had encountered a native English speaker on one of her visits. Leaving the nearby dress shop she had literally run into Blaise Zabini, a British expatriate who had abandoned his homeland after some sort of conflict between pure-bloods and the rest of wizarding society. She had heard talk of such things amongst her parents in front of the fire late at night, always in hushed tones. As with everything else of the sort, they had left her entirely in the dark. Blaise didn’t like to speak about the details, and she never pressed, especially after he graciously invited her to meet his friends back in Britain for the first time.  
  
  
Meeting Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson had been a godsend. Finally these were people who didn’t hide amused smirks at her mannerisms and figures of speech. They listened to what she had to say. The night Pansy had shared the bitter tale of her past with Draco and now-unrequited feelings was one she would never forget. Finally, if only through letters most of the time, Adalie had a friend.  
  
  
Adalie’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden arrival of a group of three gendarmes of the French Ministry, wands drawn.  
  
  
“Mademoiselle Shafiq! Arretez-vouz immediatement!”  
  
  
“Moi? Qu’ai-je fait?”  
  
  
A crowd of intrigued onlookers began to gather at the scene.  
  
  
“Nous avons des documents a partir de la Grande-Bretagne. Vous etes en etat d’arrestation,” the gendarme in the center announced authoritatively as the others moved to restrain her.  
  
  
“En etat d’arrestation?! Pour quoi?!” Adalie protested.  
  
  
“Venez avec nous. Tout sera explique.”  
  
  
Adalie found her arms held by the two men who had remained silent during the confrontation. In front of her the remaining man nodded curtly and without warning the bewildered witch was sucked along as they disapparated.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Several hours later, Adalie sat alone in small room with black walls inside the British Ministry of Magic. After being shown a pile of papers she could not begin to understand back in France, she had consented to be taken to Britain by portkey under the escort of the gendarmes who had detained her. It had all happened so blindingly fast she knew whatever mistake had been made, it must be serious. Thus, it perplexed it her that she had been sitting in this room at an empty table without a word from anyone in the nearly three hours since her arrival.  
  
  
Suddenly however, the door she had been brought in through opened. Adalie noticed a dark-haired wizard who appeared to be about her age enter the room. With a flick of his wand he conjured a chair for himself and sat down across from her. His face was stern and marked by an oddly-shaped scar on his forehead.  
  
  
“So,” he began, “you’re Adalie Shafiq…”  
  
  
Adalie remained quiet, unsure if the man intended to continue.  
  
  
“I know you understand English,” he said firmly.  
  
  
Adalie blushed.  
  
  
“Yes. I’m sorry, I…I am Adalie.”  
  
  
The man nodded.  
  
  
“Ms. Shafiq,” he started, producing a thick wallet with a badge she didn’t recognize and laying it on the table, “I’m Harry Potter, Auror, and Head of the Major Crimes Division for the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”  
  
  
Adalie’s eyes widened. She had heard much about Harry Potter from her friends. He was apparently the one responsible for ending the conflict that had driven Blaise to France. She averted her eyes. He must be a very powerful wizard to have conquered someone so powerful when he was so young.  
  
  
As if he sensed that she was not going to volunteer anything more on her own, the wizard pressed forward. “First things first, I’m sure by now you know why you’re here?”  
  
  
“No,” she replied hesitantly.  
  
  
“No?”  
  
  
“They didn’t tell me anything. They just–”  
  
  
“They gave you the papers right?”  
  
  
“Yes, but…I don’t understand.”  
  
  
“What don’t you understand?”  
  
  
“I…I don’t know anything about any Tobias Hughes.”  
  
  
“Okay…” Harry said skeptically. “Let’s assume for a minute that’s true. We’ll go all the way back to the beginning. You’re the last of your family, correct?”  
  
  
“Yes…”  
  
  
“Now, your family used to be a prominent one here in Britain, right?”  
  
  
“Of course, but–”  
  
  
“But they left in the 1950s.”  
  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
  
“And moved to France. That was your great-grandparents?”  
  
  
“Yes.”  
  
  
“But they never really joined up with the wizarding community there, did they?”  
  
  
“No,” Adalie answered bitterly. “We were never really a part of much of anything.”  
  
  
“You seem upset about that,” Harry prompted.  
  
  
“It was difficult. My family…eventually just my parents…were very demanding.”  
  
  
“How?”  
  
  
“They forced me to begin school at home when I was seven. I spent ten hours a day on magical theory until I could receive my wand when I turned eleven. Then it was twelve hours a day between theory and practice.”  
  
  
“What sorts of things did you practice?” Harry asked, leaning forward.  
  
  
Adalie was confused. “Well…everything, I suppose.”  
  
  
“Does that include manipulating the elements?”  
  
  
“Sometimes.”  
  
  
“What about dark magic?” he asked pointedly.  
  
  
“I…” Adalie hesitated. Her parents had warned her never to speak of it. It was the most powerful magic they had told her, but there were those who feared it. Those who could not handle the benefits it offered. To them, admitting her knowledge would cause her trouble. In their ignorance, they told her, these people would view it as dangerous.  
  
  
“Go on,” Harry pressed.  
  
  
“I’m not sure. I learned a lot of different spells. My parents never put them in categories…except for Transfiguration.”  
  
  
Harry angled his chin down sharply, staring at her over his glasses. “Don’t…” he said warningly.  
  
  
“What?” Adalie asked innocently.  
  
  
The dark-haired man slid back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath and releasing it quickly before leaning forward once more. “Ms. Shafiq, you don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with me. Do you understand?”  
  
  
Adalie nodded.  
  
  
“Good. Then I’ll ask again. What about dark magic?”  
  
  
Adalie tried to remain strong, but her will was fading under the man’s harsh stare. Why was he asking her these questions if he already knew? What was she really here for? The wizard’s green eyes were watching her carefully, seeming to note her every breath, her every twitch. It was disquieting. She looked away.  
  
  
“Somebody told you not to talk about it,” Harry said confidently. “Who was that?”  
  
  
Adalie crumbled. “My parents.”  
  
  
“And what did they not want you to tell me about your experience with dark magic?”  
  
  
“That…that I could do it. They said…people like you thought it was dangerous. That you wouldn’t understand.”  
  
  
Harry nodded. “Have you practiced dark magic since they stopped giving you lessons?”  
  
  
“No!” Adalie shouted quickly. “It always felt…strange…to me. I never liked it. My parents made me do…cruel things with it. To the pests at home.”  
  
  
Harry sat back as if weighing her words. He looked hard at her, though this time is was strangely reassuring. “It’s okay. I understand about spending your childhood differently than you wanted to.”  
  
  
The young witch regarded him carefully.  
  
  
“I’m glad you stopped, Adalie,” Harry said. “For some witches and wizards, it gets very hard to stop. You must be strong-willed…to be raised around it, taught it, in a family likes yours. And then never to use it again…” he mused.  
  
  
Adalie shifted her eyes uncomfortably.  
  
  
“We’ll get back to that,” Harry said eerily. “So tell me when you started coming to Britain so regularly.”  
  
  
“Oh…maybe six months ago…” she offered nervously. Adalie watched as Harry whipped out a thick file and flipped through the pages.  
  
  
“Six months ago,” he repeated, seemingly satisfied.  
  
  
“What brought that on?”  
  
  
“My parents…they passed away suddenly on a trip and I started to try to get out into the world. But I was lost. I had rarely left our estate. My parents never let me learn French. So I spent a lot of time back home in Marseille trying to do things. Learn. And meet people.”  
  
  
“And you came all the way here from Marseille to meet people?”  
  
  
“Not at first. I just happened to run into a man who had moved there from Britain. It was early in my learning French and…he spoke English. We talked. He just understood the way I was. The way my parents had raised me…we became friends and–”  
  
  
“We’re talking about Blaise Zabini now?”  
  
  
“Yes, I…how did you–”  
  
  
He tapped the file. “I know a lot. Keep going.”  
  
  
“Well eventually, I suppose it was probably seven months ago, he told me he was coming back to visit some friends from school. That they’d like to meet me. And so I came with him and it was like before…they understood me. And so I came back with Blaise the next month…and then some on my own.”  
  
  
“What sorts of things did you do?”  
  
  
“It was mostly dinners and then conversations after. Different houses. We never really went out. I supposed they were like me. Isolated.”  
  
  
“Ever think to ask why that was?”  
  
  
“No. They were kind to me. I didn’t want to pry…”  
  
  
Harry snorted. “To be clear, now we’re talking about Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson?”  
  
  
Adalie nodded.  
  
  
“Anyone else?”  
  
  
“Sometimes Astoria’s sister. A girl named Millicent. Once Draco’s parents.”  
  
  
“Draco’s parents? When was that?”  
  
  
“I…I really can’t be sure. A few months ago, maybe?”  
  
  
“Interesting.”  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
Harry waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing to worry about.”  
  
  
Adalie crossed and uncrossed her legs.  
  
  
“Cold?” Harry asked.  
  
  
“A bit,” she answered, biting her lip.  
  
  
The dark-haired wizard produced his wand and instantly the air around the felt more comfortable. “I’m used to it,” he commented. “Sometimes I forget.”  
  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
  
“Sure. Now how many times would you say you visited Britain in the last six months?”  
  
  
“Goodness,” Adalie started, looking off as she tried to count in her head. “Ten at least. Maybe fifteen?”  
  
  
Harry glanced at the file again, running his finger down one of the sheets. “Fourteen actually.”  
  
  
“Right.”  
  
  
“So which trip did you finally ask your new friends what they did?”  
  
  
“I didn’t…”  
  
  
“It didn’t strike you as odd that they never talked about work?”  
  
  
“I suppose not. I mean…I could tell they were wealthy. And isolated like I said. I just assumed they were like me.”  
  
  
“You just assumed they didn’t have jobs.”  
  
  
“Right.”  
  
  
“But you never asked why?” Harry pressed.  
  
  
“No…I mean…you have to understand. I grew up without any friends. I finally had some. I just…I thought if they didn’t want to talk about it they had good reasons,” Adalie defended.  
  
  
“Oh and they do,” Harry replied emphatically, producing several sheets from inside the file and shoving them toward Adalie in a stack. “We’ll take them in order. First, do you know what that top sheet is a picture of?”  
  
  
Adalie saw a picture of a forearm with a strange tattoo. The ink appeared black and the image was of a menacing skull with a strange snake protruding from its mouth and twisting around itself. “No!” she said immediately. “What is that?”  
  
  
Harry harrumphed. “That’s a picture of your friend Draco’s forearm not long after the war ended. As for what’s on it? That’s the Dark Mark. Voldemort’s Mark.”  
  
  
Adalie covered her mouth in shock. “I…that’s Draco’s arm? But…why? And who is–”  
  
  
“Who is Voldemort?” Harry asked, incredulous. “The darkest wizard of all time. A sickening blood purist who almost destroyed our world twice. He murdered my parents when I was a year old. Did the same to who knows how many others or ordered it done by his followers,” Harry continued bitterly. “That mark on your friend’s arm…that’s just one part of the price of admission to his inner circle.”  
  
  
Adalie sat silently in shock. Blaise had made what he had called a conflict seem so…small. And Draco had been so welcoming. She wondered if her parents were caught up in this too. She knew they had strong attitudes about blood purity from the lengths they went to trying to instill the same in her. All their hushed conversations by the fireplace suddenly seemed so much darker.  
  
  
Harry pulled the picture of Draco’s arm away and spread out the others in front of Adalie. They appeared to her to be school pictures as she saw Astoria, Blaise, and Draco all wearing the same robes and colors. “These are pictures showing the people you’re so close to as Slytherins. The Slytherin students aren’t all bad. Some of them helped us in the war. But for the most part, they were all at least sympathizers with Voldemort and his agenda.”  
  
  
“But I never–”  
  
  
“I’m sure,” Harry said skeptically.  
  
  
“Really!” Adalie insisted. “We always talked about simple things.”  
  
  
“Well, why don’t you tell me what you talked about on April 7th?”  
  
  
“I don’t remember any specifics…it was just another dinner.”  
  
  
“Yet you didn’t go back to Marseille until April 12th…”  
  
  
“That’s right. Pansy had given me some recommendations of places to visit around Britain. Nice places to shop in your Diagon Alley and a little town called Hogsmeade…I was just enjoying myself. Trying to learn more about the place since I’d started coming so much.”  
  
  
“How about the night of April 8th?”  
  
  
“I was traveling–”  
  
  
“Alone?”  
  
  
“Yes…”  
  
  
“Seems a bit odd that none of your new friends…isolated like you said…no jobs, wouldn’t come with you.”  
  
  
“I told them I wanted to explore on my own.”  
  
  
“And where were you exploring that night?”  
  
  
“I was here. In London.”  
  
  
“Muggle London?”  
  
  
“I’m sure I spent some time there too. Of course. I don’t understand. Why do you care about all this?”  
  
  
With a sudden flourish, Harry produced a wand from his robes and set it down on the table between them. “Recognize this?”  
  
  
Adalie saw her wand lying in front of her. “Of course…it’s mine…but I still don’t understand.”  
  
  
“This,” Harry began ominously, “is just the last piece of confirmation I needed to have you brought in. Because according to our tests, this is the best fit for the wand that was used to murder Tobias Hughes.”  
  
  
For a moment, the brunette witch sat frozen in stunned silence. First there had been the revelations about her friends. Now she learned there _hadn’t_ been a mistake in France. The authorities in Britain were actually charging her with a crime. _Killing_ a man. She watched as Harry drew the wand back carefully to his side of the table before placing it back in his robes. He was watching her keenly, through slightly squinted eyes.  
  
  
“B-but…a murder?! I thought this was some kind of mix-up!” she protested. “I don’t even know the person you’re talking about!”  
  
  
Her accuser drew his head back slowly, cocking it slightly to the right. He appeared to be considering his next move carefully. Wordlessly, he rose, grabbing the file he had produced earlier and thumped the door loudly with his fist. With every pound, Adalie shook slightly. She wondered what would happen now. Would she be carried off to a dark cell someplace?  
  
  
The door opened, revealing a red-haired wizard, this one taller and brawnier than the one she had been dealing with. Adalie chewed her lip nervously as they whispered amongst themselves. Harry Potter had blown somewhat hot and cold with her. Her new antagonist’s appearance however gave rise to concerns that he may prefer to stick to a single, blunt approach. A few minutes later, Harry fixed her with a hard stare before thrusting the file into his associate’s chest and marching out the door.  
  
  
The red-haired wizard ambled up to the table, casually flipping through the file he had been given, nodding here and hmm-ing there before taking a seat across from her. He shut the file and tossed it down, leaning back in the chair. She braced herself for his attack, but was instead greeted by a hand thrust toward her.  
  
  
“Name’s Ron Weasley. I’m an Auror too.” He fumbled about in his robes for a moment as if searching for something. Flashing Adalie an embarrassed grimace, he sucked in air through his teeth and threw his hands in the air. “Afraid I’ve forgotten my badge, so you’ll just have to take my word on it.”  
  
  
Slowly, Adalie reached out to accept the handshake.  
  
  
“Harry’s been giving you a time of it I’ll bet,” he started. “He’s my boss…gets a bit gruff at times, but don’t let it fool you.”  
  
  
Adalie was puzzled. Assembling the knowledge she’d had from her friends with the information Harry himself had provided, it was clear that this man’s predecessor was a talented wizard.  
  
  
As she looked up to meet the new wizard’s gaze, she saw an almost jovial expression. “You’re worried because he’s the one who killed Voldemort,” he said knowingly. “Well…he also married my sister, so I can tell you his bark’s worse than his bite. Long as you tell the truth anyway…”  
  
  
She shifted her eyes back and forth.  
  
  
“Scared, huh?” he asked, his face showing what looked like genuine concern.  
  
  
Adalie slowly nodded. “I…it’s just that I haven’t had anything to do with this! And I’ve been whisked off here…he showed me pictures of my friends…told me my wand was a murder weapon…” She covered her mouth and sniffed to prevent herself from breaking.  
  
  
“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, shaking his head. “Hauled off and accused you of the murder… _really_?”  
  
  
She nodded again.  
  
  
“Well, Harry’s never been the tactful one. Sorry about that,”  
  
  
“I…I suppose I understand…under the circumstances.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Ron said, nodding slowly. “Been a long time since a sitting member of the Wizengamot was murdered in peacetime.”  
  
  
“The what?”  
  
  
“Right…you’re from France. It’s our court over here.”  
  
  
Now she understood the dark-haired wizard’s intensity.  
  
  
“Well, here’s the rub. I’ve got to ask you straight out. For the record you know,” Ron added. “Did you kill him?”  
  
  
“No. I don’t even know him.”  
  
  
Adalie watch as Ron scribbled something on a scrap of parchment.  
  
  
“Excellent,” Ron replied before taking a glance at his watch. “Thing is, Harry’s gone for dinner and I’ve got to stay here with you. Got to look like I’ve done something as well,” he added, seeking sympathy with a cocked eyebrow. “I can just ask you some simple stuff until he gets back. Save us both loads of trouble, if you don’t mind.”  
  
  
“I guess not…”  
  
  
“Right. So Malfoy then, you’ve been to his place right?”  
  
  
“A few times.”  
  
  
“Seen anything weird while you there?”  
  
  
“Like what?”  
  
  
“You know, just anything out of the ordinary. Creepy object, dodgy looking papers…”  
  
  
“Not that I remember. I mean we were really just in the dining and sitting rooms.”  
  
  
Ron groaned and scrunched his face.  
  
  
“What?” Adalie asked, concerned.  
  
  
“Not the best memories of that place. Nasty spot to be during the war.”  
  
  
She immediately remembered what Harry had shown her. “Because of Draco?”  
  
  
Ron scoffed. “Malfoy’s a right foul git, but he was the least of it. Place was Voldemort’s headquarters. The worst of the worst happened there. Almost to us.”  
  
  
Adalie shivered, unsure exactly what to say. “Sorry…” she offered. It seemed like the best idea, for whatever the word was worth.  
  
  
The red-haired wizard waved his hand dismissively. “Not your fault. We knew what we were getting into.” He paused. “So nothing at the Malfoys then. Did you get particularly close with one friend in particular?”  
  
  
“Pansy,” she volunteered immediately.  
  
  
“You ever get to talk away from the others?”  
  
  
“A lot actually,” Adalie admitted, her face animated.  
  
  
“What about?”  
  
  
Adalie paused. “Well…I don’t want to betray her confidence…”  
  
  
“Of course not. Just generally then.”  
  
  
“Okay. I mean, we talked about the differences between here and France. She seemed fascinated with Marseille. The wizarding community there is less concentrated and she liked the different fabrics of my robes. That they had some patterns. We talked about wizards…well, mostly Pansy. I only really know Blaise and Draco,” she finished, stopping herself suddenly. “I’m sorry,” she said, blushing. “I just…I don’t get to talk often. Certainly not _about_ my friends. Only to them.”  
  
  
“It’s alright,” Ron reassured her. “What’s that like, being alone so much of the time?”  
  
  
Adalie frowned. “Well…it’s different now because I know most people aren’t that way. I suppose as a girl I knew, part of me anyway, but I convinced myself my parents had their reasons. Looking back it makes what they did feel so much more cruel. Does that make sense?”  
  
  
Ron nodded. “I can see where it would hurt. Don’t have any personal experience mind you…I came up with five brothers and a sister so I was never alone. Curse in itself really.”  
  
  
Adalie stared off longingly. “Yes…well, I suppose the grass is always greener.”  
  
  
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud thumping.  
  
  
“That’ll be Harry,” Ron said, gathering the file and stepping away.  
  
  
This time the whispering between the two men was more animated. Ron seemed to be trying to make a point, gesturing repeatedly after which Harry would immediately scowl and say something abrupt. After a few minutes, Ron stepped outside and closed the door. Adalie buried her face in her hands, truly confronting the depth of her plight for the first time.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
As the heavy, sound-proof door clicked shut behind him, Ron braced for impact.  
  
  
“I needed _answers_ , Ron,” Harry growled.  
  
  
“You think I don’t know that? She bought it. Trust me. She just doesn’t have them,” Ron defended.  
  
  
“Damnit!” Harry shouted, fighting the urge to pound the wall. “So you think she’s not it?”  
  
  
“You really want that answer?” the red-haired Auror asked.  
  
  
Harry shook his head. “No. You’re right. I don’t.”  
  
  
“How long until you have to make the recommendation?”  
  
  
“We’ve had her seven hours. The French only gave us ten.”  
  
  
“What’s Neville say?”  
  
  
“Charge her. He thinks we’ve got enough.”  
  
  
“Enough or he thinks it’s her?”  
  
  
Harry tilted his head and frowned. “He thinks it’s her. A hundred percent.”  
  
  
“So you’re going to do it then?”  
  
  
“I have to. I mean Neville’s right. The hard evidence, the background…even _some_ of what she’s told us herself adds up.”  
  
  
“Harry if you–”  
  
  
“Don’t,” Harry interrupted sternly. “This,” he continued, gesturing between them, “can’t be an issue when we testify.”  
  
  
“Wait a minute mate. You’re not asking me to–”  
  
  
Harry fixed Ron with a firm stare. “ _Never._ But when it comes to it being expressed…”  
  
  
“Right,” Ron nodded.  
  
  
Harry ran a hand through his hair, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. “I think it’s best you take her. I’ve got to see Hermione about the papers.”  
  
  
As the heavy, sound-proof door re-opened, Adalie pulled her hands back, sniffing heavily and wiping her reddened eyes. It was the red-haired wizard who re-entered, a certain heavy gloom having settled over his countenance.  
  
  
“Go on,” he said, gesturing wearily for her to stand. “Hands behind your back again.”  
  
  
Fighting back a second wave of the emotions that had overtaken her in his absence, Adalie complied. She scarcely heard as he muttered the incantation, the final flourish of his wand generating the slightest rush of air that tickled the back of her neck. A moment later she felt the cold, invisible steel encircle her wrists.  
  
  
“W-wha…what’s going t-to happen to me?” she asked meekly.  
  
  
“Trial soon,” Ron said simply. “For now, you’re headed to Azkaban.”  
  
  
 **A/N: As promised we’re right back in the thick of things. This chapter came out a bit longer both because I wanted to introduce Adalie and I felt you needed an adequate feel for her both as a whole character and inside the interrogation. I also felt it would help to show the team’s interrogation techniques and feelings about the case and about Adalie as we enter the home stretch. There are some aspects of that I obviously left deliberately unresolved, but hopefully you’ll feel it’s all tied up by the end of the story and in terms of the sort of “justice procedure” in the new age Ministry, hopefully you’ll feel any really burning questions are tied up at the end of the next chapter.**  
  
 **  
More importantly, thank you for reading! I know I haven’t said that nearly enough in my notes to this story, but your continued clicks have been greatly appreciated! I am chugging away to finish this bad boy by the challenge deadline and so just seeing those few of you who are faithfully following along has been an absolutely vital inspiration to press on through the fatigue or any creeping doubts. I hope you’re all satisfied by the end!**  
  
 **Translations for those interested:**  
  
 **  
Arretez-vouz immediatement! – Stop immediately!**  
  
 **  
Moi? Qu’ai-je fait? – Me? What have I done?**  
  
 **  
Nous avons des documents a partir de la Grande-Bretagne. Vous etes en etat d’arrestation. – We have documents from Britain. You are under arrest.**  
  
 **  
En etat d’arrestation?! Pour quoi?! – Under arrest?! For what?!**  
  
 **  
Venez avec nous. Tout sera explique. – Come with us. All will be explained.**


	10. Trial

The large well of Courtroom Seven was silent, but for the sound of the soles of Neville Longbottom’s best shoes thwacking sharply against the white marble floor. The color of the stone stood in stark contrast to the imposing black bench behind which the full Wizengamot now sat, weighing the latest evidence in the trial of the foreign witch who had allegedly murdered one of their own.

  
  
    
Clad in his finest robes, Minister Shacklebolt was seated front and center just ahead of the rest of them, his official seal in one hand, his other resting on a heavily dog-eared copy of the Ministry Codebook. “Ms. Granger, your next witness?” he intoned deeply.  
  
  
Hermione rose from her seat at the Advocate’s table, careful to keep her posture perfectly correct and her tone confident and measured. “The Ministry’s next witness is Harry James Potter.”  
  
  
Harry strode forward confidently in his white shirt, wearing a crisp black suit with matching necktie, his Auror badge fixed prominent over his breast pocket. Before ascending to the dais on the right side of the courtroom, Harry faced the Minister, his face stern and professional. He raised his right hand.  
  
  
A perky blonde witch rose from her small, seemingly out-of-place chair beneath the bench. “Harry James Potter, do you now affirm that the testimony you are about to give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”  
  
  
“I do.”  
  
  
Nodding curtly, the witch retook her seat. Harry slowly ascended the steps of the obsidian dais and faced forward, directing his gaze first toward his friend and former housemate.  
  
  
“Please introduce yourself,” she began.  
  
  
Harry’s eyes lit with a masked smile that only Hermione detected. “My name is Harry James Potter.”  
  
  
“How are you employed?”  
  
  
“I am an Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. My current title is Head of the Major Crimes Division.”  
  
  
“What training did you receive to hold that position?”  
  
  
“At the end of the Second Wizarding War, I joined the Academy and completed the Ministry’s Accelerated Training Program, becoming a duly-licensed and appointed Auror. For the three years after that, I received continuous training in magical and physical combat, concealment, investigation, and tracking.”  
  
  
“Did your training suddenly stop two years ago?”  
  
  
“No,” Harry said, adjusting his glasses. “Based on my track record of apprehensions and successful investigative resolutions, I became the instructor for those advanced courses.”  
  
  
Hermione’s heels clicked on the hard floor as she walked into the center of the courtroom. “How are you involved in today’s case?”  
  
  
“Head Auror Gawain Robards appointed me as Lead Auror and Lead Investigator in the death of Tobias Hughes.”  
  
  
“When did that investigation start?”  
  
  
“Shortly after midnight on April 9th, 2004.”  
  
  
“Where did it begin?”  
  
  
“After Head Auror Robards and I assembled my team…that’s myself and Aurors Longbottom and Weasley, we went to the Corinthia Hotel in Muggle London.”  
  
  
“Why?”  
  
  
“We received information through our monitoring of Muggle law enforcement that indicated a man matching Tobias Hughes’s description had been found dead in Room 1218.”  
  
  
“Did you proceed to that room?”  
  
  
“We did.”  
  
  
“And what did you find?” Hermione questioned.  
  
  
“I immediately saw Mr. Hughes’s body on the floor. He was laying on his stomach, essentially face down, but with his head turned toward the two beds in the room. I performed several detection charms, discovering the small amounts of trace evidence that Auror Longbottom testified about. I also performed a tracing spell, which revealed a series of spells that had been recently cast in the room.”  
  
  
“What specifically?”  
  
  
“It was apparent that despite the complex protective wards securing the room, an individual had been able to apparate inside. At that point she hid someplace–”  
  
  
“Objection!” shouted Eleanor Busby, the dark-haired twenty-two year old barrister who had been appointed to represent Adalie Shafiq.  
  
  
“Grounds?” the Minister inquired.  
  
  
“T-this statement, Minister is, in-inherently speculative. Both the fact that the individual was a-a witch and t-the fact that they hid cannot possibly have been known to Mr. Potter.”  
  
  
“Ms. Granger?”  
  
  
“Minister,” Hermione replied, her tone laden with superiority, “prior testimony already confirms that the only two people to enter the room at the relevant time were the victim and his assailant. Auror Potter’s description of the trace does not reveal that Mr. Hughes had entered the room yet, enabling us to easily conclude that the attacker must have concealed themselves prior to Mr. Hughes arriving. It’s a basic lay opinion…”  
  
  
“But we h-haven't addressed the other part of my objection, M-minister if I may–”  
  
  
“You may not, Ms. Busby. Your objection is noted and overruled. Please continue Mr. Potter.”  
  
  
“Like I was saying,” Harry said, directing a pointed stare at the defense table, “the killer hid someplace in the room. After our timeline places Mr. Hughes’s entering, they used non-verbal magic to extinguish the lights in the room. Mr. Hughes then produced his wand for illumination, but was disarmed. A short time later…maybe three to four minutes at most…the killer restored the lights non-verbally before Mr. Hughes was executed–”  
  
  
“Obj–”  
  
  
“Overruled.”  
  
  
“Mr. Hughes was _executed_ ,” Harry repeated, “by means of the Killing Curse.”  
  
  
“Were you able to determine what happened in those three to four minutes?” Hermione asked.  
  
  
“I was.”  
  
  
“What did you conclude?”  
  
  
“Based on both the other evidence on scene and the report by Coroner Maithwaite, I determined that after Mr. Hughes was disarmed, his attacker engaged in a physical attack, striking his face and thrusting him against the door to the room. In the process of this attack, Mr. Hughes’s wand was broken. The murderer then drove Mr. Hughes’s toward where he eventually died at wandpoint, prodding him in the back with her wand at least twice. She then stabbed Mr. Hughes twice.”  
  
  
“What did this lead you to believe?”  
  
  
Eleanor Busby half-rose in her chair, an indignant expression on her face as she contemplated another objection. In the end however, she merely frowned in reflecting on her previous failures and kept her seat.  
  
  
Freed to speak by her silence, Harry answered. “It led me to believe that the witch that murdered Tobias Hughes had a track record of violent acts and dark magic and a deep-seated anger at Mr. Hughes that led to this brutality.”  
  
  
Hermione carried on confidently. “What do you think could have caused this anger?”  
  
  
“Under the circumstances, I can only believe that the killer feared his vote in the _In re Walsham_ case, and acted to protect their interests.”  
  
  
“What kind of interests would those be?”  
  
  
“Interests in maintaining ancient blood supremacist policies in wizarding business.”  
  
  
“So how does the defendant, Adalie Shafiq, a native of France, come into this?”  
  
  
“Ms. Shafiq’s family is historically British. They abandoned this country for France when blood purity regulations first began to weaken in the 1950s. However, they maintain substantial business and financial assets here and indeed isolated themselves from French culture and society in order to extend their beliefs on blood purity not just to magical lineage, but national origin as well–”  
  
  
“But Auror Potter,” Hermione interrupted. “This is all _old_ information. What does it have to do with the defendant?”  
  
  
“She was raised and trained to advance those views. When I interrogated her, she admitted to being schooled in dark magic and manipulation of the elements by her parents, as well as using that magic to perpetrate acts of cruelty against pests around her family’s estate in France.”  
  
  
“Pests perhaps…but people?” Hermione challenged.  
  
  
“She was already using dark magic as a young child. Likely learning spells of violence at the age Hogwarts students are learning about levitation charms. That kind of brutality at an early age shapes a person, as we have seen all too often in the case of prominent Death Eaters.”  
  
  
“Were there any other connections?”  
  
  
“There were. Coroner Maithwaite’s report indicated the presence of two prod marks produced by the tip of a wand. When comparing the wand tips of all suspects in this investigation to the marks created, Ms. Shafiq’s was found to be a perfect match. She also confessed to being alone in London on the night of the murder, giving her the perfect opportunity to commit the crime.”  
  
  
Hermione turned, dipping her head slightly in deference to the Wizengamot. “Thank you Auror Potter. No further questions.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Several hours later, the Wizengamot had finally finished hearing a separate version of events from the only witness for the defense, Adalie Shafiq. Adalie had felt horribly alone throughout the process. Her so-called friends had testified for the Ministry, spilling every detail about her repeated trips to Britain over the last seven months and her presence in the country around the time of the murder. Of course this alone was not damning, but Adalie had hoped they would be _her_ witnesses. That they would explain the kind of person she was. But instead they had helped her accusers.  
  
  
She watched warily from her elevated position on the dais as the brown-haired witch prosecuting her rose again. Adalie tried to suppress her fear. She knew of course that this was coming. She had been told as much when she insisted on testifying on her own behalf. But now it felt so much more real. How would this clever girl try to twist her words further? How would she try to re-cast her life and her actions? How would she herself handle it? Suddenly, she realized she had missed the first question. Adalie looked down at her feet, face flushed.  
  
  
“I-I’m sorry…I didn’t hear you,” she said.  
  
  
Hermione stared up at her icily. “I asked you what Ms. Busby never did. If you deny the charge against you.”  
  
  
“Of course I do!” Adalie said immediately.  
  
  
“And yet the first time…you didn’t hear me?” Hermione asked sarcastically.  
  
  
“I didn’t! I was thinking about something else…”  
  
  
“Something else? Perhaps the story you’re going to tell these witches and wizards now to save yourself?”  
  
  
“No…I–”  
  
  
“Tell me, Adalie,” Hermione interrupted, softening her tone greatly “are you afraid?”  
  
  
Adalie looked worriedly at the people who would be judging her. Her supposed victim’s friends. She bit her lip. “Yes. Very.”  
  
  
“Well then, I’ll keep it very simple. All you have to do is tell the truth.”  
  
  
“O-okay.”  
  
  
“Seven months ago, you began taking trips to Britain, correct?”  
  
  
“Yes, I–”  
  
  
“And these trips increased in frequency over time?”  
  
  
“Right…”  
  
  
“Until between seven months ago and now, you had taken a total of fourteen trips from your home in Marseille, to this country?”  
  
  
“Yes.”  
  
  
“Trips you claim were purely social?”  
  
  
“They were! I only had–”Adalie defended  
  
  
“Yes of course,” Hermione interrupted, putting up a hand to silence her. “Purely social gatherings with only former Death Eaters or fellow blood supremacists?”  
  
  
“We didn’t talk about all that…I didn’t even know…”  
  
  
“So you expect us to believe that you never talked about their backgrounds in all that time?”  
  
  
“We just stuck to other topics…”  
  
  
“Like preserving blood supremacy perhaps?”  
  
  
“No!” Adalie protested. “That was my parents. I hated their lessons. I hated the way they isolated me from everyone else!”  
  
  
“So you admit you felt isolated…” Hermione pressed.  
  
  
“Yes, of course–”  
  
  
“Separate from the rest of wizarding society…”  
  
  
“For a long time, yes. My parents–”  
  
  
“We’ve heard enough about your parents,” Hermione said dismissively. “I’m talking about you. _You_ felt isolated, didn’t you?”  
  
  
“Yes.”  
  
  
“ _You_ felt separate.”  
  
  
“For a long time, yes.”  
  
  
“Until you met Blaise Zabini.”  
  
  
“Right…”  
  
  
“A wizard who shared your parents’ strong feelings about blood purity…”  
  
  
“We didn’t–”  
  
  
“I’m sure. And a wizard who introduced you to others who felt the same…”  
  
  
Adalie felt about to burst. Her eyes were becoming wet with hot tears as her frustration and fear mounted. Nobody was even trying to protect her! “No! I mean…yes, but I didn’t know that they felt that way.”  
  
  
“Of course you didn’t,” Hermione said brightly, her eyes full of scorn and her lips twisted in a cruel smirk. “A witch trained in the Dark Arts, with a history of using them for violence, just happened to reunite with former followers and sympathizers with Lord Voldemort’s agenda in the months leading up to the Wizengamot decision that might finally destroy it…”  
  
  
“Objection! Argumentative!” Eleanor Busby spluttered.  
  
  
“Sustained…” said Minister Shacklebolt warningly.  
  
  
“Did you or did you not become friends with Blaise Zabini?” Hermione asked sternly.  
  
  
“I did.”  
  
  
“And did you or did you not become friends with Draco Malfoy?”  
  
  
“I did.”  
  
  
“And did you or did you not, in the months leading up to Tobias Hughes’s murder, have a private conversation with both Draco Malfoy and his father about the _In re Walsham_ case and its potential impact on your family’s finances?”  
  
  
“I…we talked about money…the case…I didn’t even know what they meant…I didn’t have a–”  
  
  
“Right, Ms. Shafiq,” Hermione interrupted, again feigning happiness as she turned dramatically to face the Minister and the rest of the Wizengamot. “Of course you didn’t. I have no further questions.”  
  
  
As Adalie was finally excused from the dais, she could feel the penetrating stares of all the eyes in the courtroom boring through her. She could sense that the brown-haired witch who had questioned her so fiercely had easily won. She could see the pitying look in her own barrister’s eyes. As she sat down in the now ice cold chair she had vacated more than an hour ago, she sniffled and wiped at her eyes.  
  
  
When the time came to hear the body’s verdict, Adalie stood stiffly. She didn’t follow the words the stately British Minister spoke. She didn’t even register the man banging his seal to regain control of the large courtroom as the murmurs of those lucky enough to be let inside to witness her undoing drowned him out time and time again. Adalie was able to disconnect, as she had so many times during her parents’ lessons or their episodes of verbal abuse and calculated cruelty. As they led her away, she realized that things would not be so bad. She had almost enjoyed her brief taste of freedom, but upon reflection, it had all been a lie. In the end, despite their terrible approach, despite they had seemed to be wrong about, her parents had been right about a few important things. Freedom wasn’t safe. Freedom wasn’t good. Freedom wasn’t for people like Adalie. Isolation was life and life was isolation. In a way, her journey to prison was more like a journey home.  
  
  
 **A/N: So I knew going in that it was impossible to capture a full trial for Adalie. It would take far too long, be far too redundant compared to some of what you’ve already read, and in short, it would bore you to death. So instead I tried to do something a bit different – nail down some procedure, focus on the key points, and give you some more character and reform insight through the whole process. I hope I carried that off.**  
  
 **  
I also hope that you have enjoyed this story. I have absolutely appreciated those of you who have read it and especially those who have been thoughtful enough to leave feedback. This has really been a bear to write in so many respects for me, but it’s been a good road and one that will hopefully make me a stronger, more versatile writer in the future and I have enjoyed the battle each and every day.**  
  
 **  
To eke just a bit more of that enjoyment out before I switch this one over to complete, I hope you will stick around just a tiny bit longer for the last chapter. I won’t go so far as to _promise_ , but I’m pretty confident you won’t be disappointed if you do.**


	11. Proof

As was her habit on the day of important hearings, Hermione Granger had beaten the sun out of bed. She smiled, taking a sip of coffee as she stood admiring her handiwork. It had taken countless hours of research and even close consultation with Professor Flitwick, but finally, three months after her most heralded victory as a Ministry Advocate, it had worked. Where the back wall of the brown-haired witch’s office was once windowless and barren, aside from the aging wallpaper that still graced much of it, it now featured two broad windows framed with deep brown wood that matched that of her desk. Light filtered in gently through them, as if it already were two hours later in the day, when the sun would have just fully crested the horizon. The windows did not open to the outside of course, even Hermione wasn’t able to move the Ministry’s walls. But they appeared to through a magical manipulation that had taken weeks to get approved. While the windows and their fancy dressings were nice, for the brightest witch of her age, the illusion was the real masterpiece. Beyond creating the windows themselves, Hermione had altered the wall on a deeper level, causing it to act as a living canvas that mimicked weather, much like the ceiling in the Great Hall, though this magic was unaffected, even locally, by mood.

  
  
   
Her moment of satisfaction was interrupted by a knock on her door. At this hour, it could only be one person. She carefully retook her seat, fixing her posture just so. “Come in,” she said quickly, her bright tone a fine match for the light emanating from her windows.  
  
  
She clasped her hands in front of her, resting them gently on the edge of her desk as she sat comfortably in her chair. It was Harry. A bit later than she’d originally thought, but then she considered, given the situation it was to be expected. The brown-haired witch watched her best friend carefully, noting his extra messy black hair and a slightly pale appearance that she was certain indicated a lack of sleep. His face however was firm.  
  
  
“Morning Hermione,” he opened cautiously.  
  
  
“Good morning Harry,” she replied.  
  
  
“Ready for the big moment then?” he asked, a hint of bitterness entering his tone.  
  
  
“Well,” she demurred, “I’m certainly _hoping_ for a big moment.”  
  
  
Harry was of course referring to the final resolution of the _In re Walsham_ case, a policy matter that had divided people and politics of their world for far too long in her opinion. The appointment of a replacement had been a nightmarish battle with threats being thrown in both directions almost as often as the loads of galleons being used by more unsavory individuals to influence the process. In the end however, the recommendations had fallen in favor of Amos Diggory. Hughes’s influence could never be replaced, but Diggory’s long service, impeccable credentials and tragic past were impossible to overlook.  
  
  
“Come off it,” he snapped. “You already know what it will be.”  
  
  
Hermione inhaled deeply, raising her chin as a confident half-smirk crept onto her face. “Fine…spoil sport,” she fired back. “43 to 32 to uphold.”  
  
  
“Exact numbers…” Harry said, shaking his head.  
  
  
“Why are we talking about this?” Hermione asked suddenly. “We both know that’s not why you’re here.” She gestured toward one of the chairs in front of her, bidding Harry to take a seat.  
  
  
Harry waved a hand dismissively, pacing the area in front of her desk.  
  
  
“You shouldn’t do this to yourself…” she began, rising from her chair to go to him.  
  
  
“And what _am_ I supposed to do?” he hissed.  
  
  
“Nothing,” Hermione answered, her brown eyes staring hard into his green.  
  
  
The pair were mere steps away from one another now, but despite their lengthy history, the air hung heavy between them. Harry ran both hands through his hair, clasping them together behind his head as he looked down. Hermione watched his conflict for a moment, noting how tightly his fingers were meshed together and the firmness with which his jaw was set. Without speaking, she turned her back on him, casting her eyes toward her brightly shining windows.  
  
  
“Merlin Hermione…” Harry muttered from behind her.  
  
  
“When did you know?” she asked simply, turning her head around to face him.  
  
  
Harry hesitated. “I always had doubts. About Shafiq. About how sudden it was…how perfect…”  
  
  
“When did you _know_?” she repeated.  
  
  
“When Ginny and I visited George.”  
  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”  
  
  
“He’s got a new product. Shifto-sticks.”  
  
  
Hermione chuckled at the name. “Perfect.”  
  
  
Harry glared at her darkly. “Not _real_ wands of course…but if touched to one, they reform themselves to look like it. An precise, if useless, copy of the wand they touched. And they can do it again and again and again…but then you already knew that, seeing as you suggested it.”  
  
  
The brown-haired witch shook her head and wagged a finger at him. “You know Harry, it was always you I was the most worried about. Ron was easy…after all, he does love me,” she said wistfully, looking off for a moment. “And Neville…loyal…proficient…but _so_ tied to the hard evidence because he _so_ lacks investigative instinct.”  
  
  
“How did you do it?”  
  
  
“How did _I_ do it?” Hermione asked incredulously. “Harry, surely you don’t think _I_ actually killed Hughes…”  
  
  
“Of course you didn’t,” Harry spat. “Who did you set up?”  
  
  
“Lucius Malfoy.”  
  
  
“Why would he even talk to you?”  
  
  
“Because I convinced him I had information that he needed. Just like I convinced Neville. And just like Neville convinced you.”  
  
  
“The voting…but Neville showed me the minutes in the Vault.”  
  
  
“Copies,” Hermione said, scrunching her face at the obviousness of the deduction. “That was the easiest part. I already had that access and the special parchment I needed to make them undetectable.”  
  
  
“So Malfoy’s father–”  
  
  
“Bought that lie. And the other…that Hughes had confided his vote in me. I _was_ quite boastful when I told him. I think it would’ve reminded you of first year.”  
  
  
“And he knew Shafiq because of her friendship with Draco. He knew she would be the perfect person to pin it on.”  
  
  
“Naturally. Then I gave George the idea and a short time later we had a working prototype. Lucius had the conversation with the girl to set it up for trial. Fed Draco the ideal itinerary for her little jaunt through Britain. He nicked her wand before she left and replaced it…since she was headed to Muggle London first she’d never need it.”  
  
  
“And never notice it didn’t work.”  
  
  
“Very good Harry,” Hermione praised.  
  
  
“So he killed Hughes.”  
  
  
“Of course.”  
  
  
“But _why_?”  
  
  
“I think I’ve already–”  
  
  
“Not him,” Harry spat. “Why did you do this?”  
  
  
“I really did have the votes counted perfectly ahead of the hearing. Hughes would decide the case. And he was too unpredictable. After all we’d done, all we’d sacrificed. A failure here would kill real reform. You’ve seen it…despite the Ministry, businesses have so much control over our world. And if we aren’t all equals there then the other reforms become meaningless. The purists hiding in shame get bolder. And then it’s only a matter of time.”  
  
  
Slowly, Harry drew his wand. “You know I can’t just let this go Hermione. Not even for you.”  
  
  
Hermione’s deep laugh mocked him. “You’re not going to turn me in Harry.”  
  
  
“I will if I have to. If you won’t do it yourself.”  
  
  
“No you won’t. Destroying me doesn’t just kill the lie. It kills the reforms. Every reform I’ve been involved in. It taints everyone. Even Kingsley. And especially those closest to me. And of course it would destroy Ron.”  
  
  
“Like Lucius Malfoy won’t? With what he has–”  
  
  
“Lucius Malfoy doesn’t have anything. He’s a long-ago discredited coward and former Death Eater. And he doesn’t even have the memories he would need to threaten me anymore.”  
  
  
“You–”  
  
  
“Obliviated him?” Hermione interrupted. “Of course. I wasn’t about to take the chance you’re talking about. He’ll see justice soon enough.”  
  
  
“He can’t. You’ve already hung it on that innocent girl.”  
  
  
“Part of the reforms. I took it from the Muggle world. Techniques advance. Evidence comes to light. Results of cases change accordingly. I’ll see that she’s exonerated when the time is right. And then I’ll see that Lucius Malfoy gets the justice he’s _always_ managed to avoid.”  
  
  
“And you go free.”  
  
  
“You could never prove I did anything.”  
  
  
Harry inhaled deeply.  
  
  
“Don’t dwell on this Harry. Things with you and me…all of us…they’ll be just like before.”  
  
  
“How can they be?” Harry barked. “This…that you’re capable of it…it changes everything.”  
  
  
“No it doesn’t. You’ll see. This will be good for us. Soon there will be more reassignments and retirements. More promotions. Robards will be rewarded for all of this. So will Garrick. And it goes without saying so will we. I’ve already seen the writing on the wall Harry. You’ll be Head Auror. I’ll be Head of the Trial Division.”  
  
  
Harry threw his hands in the air. “This is ridiculous Hermione. You’re mental.”  
  
  
“Think about it Harry. Ginny’s what…three months along now? Even if it’s not immediate, she’ll retire soon enough. She won’t want you risking yourself doing field work for long once you’ve started a family. She’ll expect you to make sacrifices. And after everything…doesn’t she _deserve_ them?”  
  
  
“Stop it. Now,” Harry warned.  
  
  
“You’re only angry because I’m right about this.”  
  
  
“How can you be so…rational? Like you said, after _everything_ how can you justify it to yourself like this?”  
  
  
Hermione shook her head. “I’ve _always_ been the rational one of us Harry.”  
  
  
Harry’s expression hardened and he raised his wand, pointing it toward her. “I can’t let you do this. It…it makes us just like them.”  
  
  
Hermione shook her head sadly. “You’ll see the benefits in time Harry,” she said as Harry was struck from behind by Ron’s non-verbal full-body bind. As the red-headed wizard shut the door quickly behind him, Hermione leaned down and stared into Harry’s green eyes. “You’ll see…even if you don’t remember.”  
  
  
As Ron stood guard at the door, Hermione produced her wand and the length of parchment that contained her script. Light from her windows bathed her as she slowly, carefully completed the memory modification. This, she didn’t like. But it was, again, a _necessary_ evil. Even Ron had understood after a careful explanation. Together, they placed Harry in a seated position in a chair at her desk before Ron left the room. As Harry’s mind slowly returned to normal after the change, Hermione quickly took her seat.  
  
  
Harry shook his head, shaking away the cobwebs after a night full of worrying about his pregnant wife and precious child. Hermione was waiting across her desk looking expectant. Unbelievable. He had fallen asleep.  
  
  
“I’m…I’m sorry Hermione. I must have dozed off…”  
  
  
“It’s alright Harry,” she answered, gently touching his arm with her hand. “I understand. You must have so much on your mind now! A baby! You and Ginny must still be so thrilled!”  
  
  
A genuine smile blasted across Harry’s entire face. “Absolutely!” he answered. “I mean…I know it’s been two months since we found out, but I can still hardly believe it.”  
  
  
As Harry went on about his hopes and concerns, Hermione allowed herself a triumphant moment to gaze out the window. She knew, deep down, that Ron would have to be set right too. The guilt would lead him to mess things up and there were so many ways he could. She smiled widely as the light from her windows continued to grow. Hermione considered it quite the metaphor for the future. One day, thanks to the hard decisions she made now, everything would be perfect.  
  
  
 **A/N: So there it is. The truth revealed. Were you surprised? Not surprised at all? Though I waited to write it because I wasn’t sure all along who and how the actual killing would have been accomplished, I always had in place the idea that Hermione was the mastermind. What did you think of her characterization here? Was it “a bridge too far” from her? I know it was a big risk in the end, but I wanted to be bold with my first time writing in this genre and take chances, so I definitely enjoyed it. I hope you did too!**  
  
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Thank you so much for your reads and reviews along the way!**


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